Whiteout Part Two
by loobeyloo
Summary: Whiteout Station is a multi national scientific project based in the Arctic Circle. When contact is lost, because of her versatility, Airwolf and her crew are recruited to travel North to discover what has happened. Something sinister or natural disaster?
1. Chapter 1

WHITEOUT is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF. Copyright 2008. This refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters.

Warning: There is some mild use of colloquial swearing in this story, but mainly for authenticity and it touches on adult themes.

For Jan Michael Vincent, who lifted Stringfellow Hawke from the page and breathed life into him, revealing his loyalty, patriotism, strength and single mindedness and most of all, his love for his family and his devotion to his country, playing him with a warmth, sensitivity, charm and charisma that has kept the character alive in the hearts and minds of fans the world over for more than twenty years, and is still winning new hearts even today.

Thank you for giving us a hero we could all believe in.

Best wishes from all of us to you, where ever you are.

Note from the author:

The action in this story takes place at the beginning of Season 1, around the time of the episodes One Way Express which aired on February 18th, 1984, and Echoes of the Past which aired on March 3rd, 1984.

_**Chapter One**_

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Thirteen – Thursday, February 23rd, 1984._**

**_Approximately 1pm local time._**

"Hey Dom …."

"How ya doin'?" Santini asked as Stringfellow Hawke joined him beside the second space heater that he had put together, and positioned on the other side of the recreation room.

"I'm ok …." Hawke spoke in a rough, gravel voice as he squeezed Dominic Santini's shoulder in reassurance, then pulled out a chair and joined him in front of the heater.

"How's she doing?" Santini inclined his head back to where Leigh Roland still slept.

"Better, I guess …." Hawke let out a long, ragged breath, still shocked by what he had learned, still trying to sort out exactly what he felt about it too. "How about you?"

After her revelations earlier, Dominic Santini had made a silent, strategic withdrawal, leaving the two young people alone to talk, and grieve.

This was their tragedy, and they needed time to come to terms with it, together.

They needed to be able to talk openly, keeping nothing back from each other, and they couldn't do that with him hanging around, Santini had reasoned silently to himself.

Santini knew that there would come a time, later, when Hawke would seek him out, a time when he would come to him, ready to share his inner most pain with his surrogate father, seeking comfort and support and guidance, knowing that Dominic Santini would understand, for as that substitute father, he felt the younger man's sorrow and pain as deeply as if it were his own.

The tragedies that touched Hawke's life touched Santini's life just as deeply too.

They were family.

But, for now, Santini knew that Hawke and Leigh Roland needed to be left alone to work this out together.

Santini also wanted some time alone, to think.

Time, to work out how he could help the young man through this latest ordeal.

Time, to try to find the right words to say.

Time, to come to terms with his own sorrow.

To come to terms with what might have been, and what he too had lost ….

Taking only a flashlight with him, his heart heavy with grief and sorrow for his young friend, and deeply enraged on Hawke's behalf, over yet another tragedy that could have been avoided, firstly, Dominic Santini had gone to sickbay in search of a couple of Aspirin.

After swallowing them down, he had then roamed around the cold, dark, silent corridors of Whiteout Station, poking around, seeing if he could find some crucial new clue, recalling significant events from the past that tied him and Stringfellow Hawke together in a bond stronger than that of blood father and son, and trying to work out how he would help the younger man come to terms with this latest heartbreak, until the cold and the emptiness and the dark, eerie, intimidating silence had forced him to return to the comforting warmth and light and human contact of the recreation room.

He had no idea how long he had been gone, but arriving back there, he had found Hawke and Leigh Roland, locked in each other's arms, snuggled up close, fast asleep, so after getting some warmth back into his hands, needing something to do to take his mind off the fact that he really wasn't feeling so well, and to focus on something other than the past and the things that could not be undone, Santini had found the second gas powered space heater, still in its crate, in the kitchen where they had left it and he had worked quietly to open the crate and set up the heater.

He had also taken one of the hurricane lanterns from the recreation room, and once the heater was working, and the kitchen was feeling less chilled, Dominic had spent some time sorting out the various cans and jars and packets in the store cupboards, trying to put them together in such a way as to make a tempting meal for them all later.

None of them had eaten much in the last twenty four hours, and although his own appetite had now dwindled away, Santini knew that they would all function much better once they had something warm and substantial inside their stomachs.

The problem, he soon discovered, was that it was kind of hard to put together a decent meal with only one small primus cooking stove.

Hawke and Roland didn't eat meat, so he couldn't just throw everything into one saucepan and heat it all together, and he couldn't figure out how to heat several different things in different saucepans and make sure they were all hot at the same time, so, in the end, his head pounding and his legs and back aching, after succumbing to another harsh fit of coughing, he had simply given up and used the stove to heat water for a fresh pot of coffee.

When he had returned from a trip to the bathroom, he had found Hawke and Roland still sleeping, peacefully, and he had immediately noticed that the wind had suddenly seemed to have stopped its perpetual howling and that it was getting significantly lighter outside.

Santini had recalled Hawke's explicit warning about going outside alone, but he was feeling restless, and, he had reasoned silently to himself, if the weather changed suddenly once more, they might not have another opportunity to try to use Airwolf's radio equipment.

So, he had gone outside, hoping that some fresh air would clear his head and make him feel a little better, trudging very carefully through the fresh, heavy wet new snow to warehouse number two where they had stored Airwolf, out of the elements, keenly aware that one slip, one stumble, could result in a heavy fall and any one of his dry old bones snapping like a twig, and then where would he be, no-one knowing he was out here …. Slowly freezing to death ….

Safely reaching his destination at last, Dominic Santini had spent a few minutes checking Airwolf over, finding her to be in good order, and then he had clambered aboard, ducking into the rear avionics compartment, where, mindful of draining her reserve battery power, he had switched on one heating element and then he had powered up the radio and weather radar equipment.

The weather radar had immediately showed one huge storm front moving off to the south, swiftly followed by another, approaching from the northwest, swirling in a clockwise motion around the screen, followed closely by another approaching from the far northeast, sweeping in an anticlockwise direction, all converging on one point, Whiteout Station …. and all that he could get from the radio was intermittent bursts of static and a series of wild, ear splitting squawks and squeaks and whistles and whines.

He had tried on and off for fifteen minutes, alternating the frequencies, calling out to Nome, then trying the Firm's frequency, then trying Nome again, but to no avail.

Feeling despondent, the loud electronic white noise only making his headache worse, Santini had closed down all the equipment and climbed stiffly out of Airwolf, then having made sure that she was powered down to standby once more, and that she was not in any danger from falling debris that might be shaken loose from the rafters and eaves by the ferocious winds, he had secured the heavy door to the warehouse and trudged the short distance back to the main block, measuring each and every step very carefully, noticing as he did so that the skies all around were considerably darker and heavier than when he had set out.

By the time he had gotten back to the recreation room, Santini had been wheezing pretty badly, his legs heavy and hard to move, his heart lurching irregularly in his chest, his whole body shaking with the tension of holding himself so stiffly, so as not to fall and break his neck, he could feel beads of cold perspiration popping out on his brow, and as he retrieved the second heater from the kitchen and set it up on the other side of the recreation room from where Hawke and Roland still slumbered, he had to admit that he was feeling decidedly ropey.

Sipping on another cup of hot coffee, Dominic Santini had plonked himself down in front of the heater, the last of his strength ebbing away, leaning in as close as he dare without setting himself alight, and savored the warmth flooding through him.

He had spent the time since, watching over Stringfellow Hawke and Leigh Roland as they slept, and dozing, off and on, himself.

He had no idea what the time was, but guessed it must be getting on for close to mid day.

"Sleeps probably the best thing for her right now …." Santini answered Hawke absently now, casting a brief glance back over his shoulder toward Leigh Roland. "Poor kid …"

"Yeah. Dom, I asked you how you were …."Hawke reminded, his voice rough, his throat scratchy, feeling some kind of tickling irritant every time he breathed or swallowed.

"You want the truth, kid …. I'm not feeling so hot," Santini confided with a rueful look.

"Me neither," Hawke admitted, his voice deep and gruff.

"It's a lot to take in, kiddo …." Santini agreed, and Hawke frowned at the older man, wondering if he was quite with it. His mind seemed to be wandering, just a little. Hawke had been talking about his physical condition, but Santini was obviously still thinking about the scene he had witnessed earlier.

However, Hawke decided to go along with him, for now.

"I just can't understand how it happened …." Hawke sighed raggedly now, confusion clouding his somewhat flushed, handsome features.

"I think I know …." Santini confessed, and this immediately drew Hawke's curious blue gaze, the expression on his face clearly saying; What now?

"Dom …" The younger man prompted when Santini did not immediately begin to speak.

"Well … You see …. Look, String …. I never told you this, because well, I figured you didn't need to know. Couldn't see that it would do any good you knowing …. But …."

"C'mon Dom, spit it out."

"Well, ya see, kid …. I got a telegram, telling me that you had been killed in action, April,1972 …."Santini spoke in hushed tones now, and then turned away from Hawke's startled face as he paused to swallow down the lump that had suddenly formed in the back of his throat at the memory of that dark day almost twelve years before.

He had thought about nothing else since that poor young woman had made the startling revelation to Hawke earlier that morning, and the guilt that had suddenly slammed through him as he realized his own part in this terrible tragedy.

"Well, I guess I don't have to tell you how that scared the crap outta me …. For about all of thirty seconds!" Santini turned back to face his young friend, smiling softly as he reached out to pat the younger man's knee.

"I wasn't gonna believe no damned telegram, especially as I'd just had a letter from you a couple of days before, and in my heart, I _**just knew**_ you were alive, kid …. Not like when I heard about Sinjin …. I just knew in my heart that it was true, that he really was gone …. But I know you don't believe that, so …."

"So, I got straight on the horn to an old friend who was still serving, and he got on to some of his friends in the top brass, called in a few favors …. Pretty soon I got a call back saying yes, you'd gotten shot down, but by all accounts you were very much alive and well, because according to your CO, Colonel Falcon, you were giving 'em holy hell down there in that field hospital!" Santini grinned now.

"Geez, Dom …."

"My friend apologized, said it should never have happened, and that he would get to the bottom of it. He called me back a couple of days later, to tell me that he'd kept up with how you were doing over there, and that there was some talk of sending you home when you were well enough, because you'd done your time …." He paused briefly to draw in a soft breath.

"He also told me that in looking deeper into the matter of the telegram, as far as they could make out, it had been some kind of administrational snafu," Santini explained.

"Seems someone, somewhere had some how managed to transpose a serial number and the damned computer spat out your name, instead of one Captain Stuart Hawkins …."

"Hawkins!" Hawke exclaimed, recognizing the name immediately and realizing that he had known the man that Dominic Santini was talking about.

They had been in the same unit, 382nd AHC, but not the same squadron, and, he now recalled, there had been several mix ups with orders during his last tour, despite the fact that Hawke was a helicopter pilot and Hawkins had been a spotter, the man they set down on the ground before a bombing raid, or aerial attack to hunt out Viet Cong targets and then guide the others in to their precise co-ordinates.

Hawke now recalled that while he had been recovering from his wounds in the field hospital, he had indeed heard that Stu Hawkins had been killed in a separate raid, the same day that Hawke himself had been shot down.

"Ohmygod …."

"Easily done, I suppose. Same initial, same rank, same unit …. In all the confusion, I guess it would be easy to write numbers down the wrong way …. People do make mistakes. But, somehow, I don't think it will be much consolation to poor Dr Roland …." Santini inhaled deeply then let the breath out raggedly as an audible hiss, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his right hand now.

"Maybe I should have told you, String, but it didn't seem right somehow. You already had enough on your mind, and I figured it was counter productive …. The last thing I wanted was for you to come home thinking that you were bullet proof, that you could do just about anything and survive, because you'd already been officially declared dead once …. Nobody can die twice, right?"

"My God, Dominic …. I can't imagine what you must have been going through, what that must have felt like …. Especially after Sinj …."

"Yeah, it was tough, String, but I couldn't help thinking about the other guy's poor family. Had to be tougher on them. Getting a telegram to say that their son had been shot down, but was safe and recovering in a field hospital, only to then find out that there had been some kind of mix up, and that instead of being alive and on the list to be sent home, he was dead …."

"Yeah …." Hawke let out a ragged sigh, realizing that Santini was right. "I'm still sorry it happened …."

"No kid, I'm sorry …."Santini let out a deep, ragged breath now and turned sad, remorseful grey eyes on the younger man.

"If I'd said something back then, maybe you would have realized that the same thing happened to your young lady …. Maybe you'd have done something about it. Maybe you would have gone back to Sydney, tracked her down, found out once and for all if she had disappeared because she knew that there was no point waiting around for a dead man to come home, or if she had simply forgotten all about you the minute you shipped out, and moved on …." Santini spoke in low tones, full or remorse and sadness.

"I know it wouldn't have changed anything …. But at least you would have known about the babies …. And maybe you and she would have had a chance to work something out …. It's all such a damned waste …."

"It's not your fault, Dom …." Hawke spoke in a whisper, knowing that his old friend was right, he should have said something, but there was nothing that either of them could do to undo it.

Who knew how he would have reacted back then, Hawke thought miserably.

He had been such a wreck.

Maybe he would simply have been too numb, too battle weary and shell shocked to realize that perhaps Leigh had also been misinformed about his death ….

Maybe Dominic was right, and he would have become blasé about taking risks, because as Dom had already said, a man can't die twice ….

His sole purpose for living each new day was to find St John and bring him home. Nothing else had mattered beyond that.

Maybe Leigh Roland would have become just another casualty of his crusade after all.

Knowing that back then he had already been staring into the abyss, Hawke could not help thinking that maybe finding out that his sons had died at birth, would have been just one tragedy too many for him to deal with.

"You didn't know …. You couldn't know …. Getting that telegram …. It can't have been easy on you, Dom. You'd already lost St John …. You thought you were doing the right thing, not saying anything, and you did it for all the right reasons, Dom. Because you cared about me, and wanted to save me, from myself …. Thank you for not giving up on me …. For trusting your instincts …. It must have been a terrible shock …. I'm sorry it hurt you …."

"Forget, it, kid. The most important thing is that you were alive, and I knew it, in here," Santini gently thumped his chest in the region of his heart and smiled gently at his young friend, then let out a deep wheezing breath and coughed several times.

"I trust this, more than anything else, and it was telling me you were alive, String. I just wish …." Santini patted his young friend's knee once more, when he had recovered from the coughing fit and gotten his breath back, noting as he did so the concern in his young friend's familiar, loving blue eyes, then suddenly Santini was frowning at the younger man as he really looked at him for the first time that day.

"Hey kid, you don't look so hot …."

"I don't feel so hot …." Hawke tried to smother a wry grin.

"Ah, crap …." Santini mumbled.

"You can say that again …."

"Shoot! Ya think we got it? What ever _**it**_ is?"

"I think that's probably a safe bet, Dom …." Hawke felt his throat constrict and raised his hand to his mouth as he too succumbed to the tickling spasm in the back of his throat causing the involuntary reflex to cough.

"Oh hell …."

"Ya. You can say that again …." Hawke drew in a deep, ragged breath when the coughing fit had passed, wiping the spittle from the corners of his mouth with his sleeve.

"What about her? Dr Roland? Do you think she's got it too?"

"Probably …."

"But she was already sick before we got here, String …."

"Yeah, I know, but I don't think it can be the same thing, Dom. She seems to think this thing has a pretty short incubation period, and going by the way I feel right now, I'd say she's right. Whatever it is she has, she picked it up while she was away from Whiteout Station. She probably did just have a head cold in the beginning …. Maybe that's all we have too. If we're lucky …." But Hawke's tone was doubtful.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough …. You will let me know if you get the urge to part my hair with a fire ax …." Hawke smiled ruefully at Santini, but the older man suspected that he was only half joking.

"Oh boy …. You still think they were playing with something nasty up here?" Santini quizzed, his expression growing anxious now.

"No, Dom," Hawke sighed expressively, feeling a stabbing pain between his eyes now, and raised the thumb and index finger of his right hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose to relieve the pain and tension.

"So now you believe her …."

"Yeah," Hawke gave a huge, shoulder raising sigh now. "I knew she was hiding something …. And I just had to ask, didn't I …." Hawke drew in another ragged breath. "But at least now I know she's telling us the truth about this place, Dom," he added before Santini had a chance to pursue with him his feelings about the rest of Dr Roland's revelations.

It was too soon.

He needed more time to think it through. To come to terms with the fact that he had fathered not one but two sons, and that he and Leigh Roland had both been unjustly robbed of the chance to see those two lives flourish and grow, and to develop into unique individuals.

_**His sons ….**_

Even now it tore at his heart to think about it.

_**His sons …. **_

_**His boys ….**_

They would have been almost twelve years old now …. Not quite young men, but not babies either ….

What would they have been like?

Would they have favored him, or their mother?

Leigh had said that when they were born, they were so like him, but as they had grown older, maybe he would have been able to see something of his father, or his mother, or maybe even St John in them ….

And if they had survived ….

If he had known about them, would he have gone back to Leigh, picked up where they had left off? Maybe brought her and their sons back to the States to start their life together here?

Under those circumstances, would he have turned his back on St John?

Would he have let go of this obsession, relinquished his crusade to find his brother and bring him home, in lieu of raising and protecting his own small family ….

_**Stop it!**_

_**Stop it, right now ….**_

_**You can't do this, not now …. **_

_**This isn't the time or the place, buddy ….**_

Hawke took a moment to pull his errant thoughts together, aware of Dominic Santini's silent scrutiny, aware too that the older man could see all too clearly the thoughts racing through his mind, and that he was once again feeling a stab of guilt and sadness that he had somehow, unwittingly, contributed to the sorrow and grief that he could see in his young friend's eyes.

"And …." Hawke drew in a deep breath now, trying to get back on track. "That means that if this thing, what ever it is, didn't originate from inside Whiteout Station, and the crew of the supply plane didn't bring it in with them, where the hell did it come from?"

"So, you tell me …." Santini muttered absently.

"There is only one possibility, Dom."

"Sorry …." Santini frowned at Hawke now, scratching his head briefly, finding it hard to concentrate because of the jack hammer banging away inside his skull. "You lost me, kid …."

"The scientists had to have brought it back with them when they came back from looking for the meteorite," Hawke spelled it out for Santini now.

"But didn't Dr Roland say that they didn't actually find the damned space rock?" Santini reminded now, forcing himself to concentrate.

"I have a theory about that …. The only person who survived that ill fated trip out on the ice to retrieve the meteorite was Dr Sven Sorenson …." Hawke reminded.

"The same Dr Sven Sorenson who had a bang on the head and conveniently couldn't remember what happened to the rest of his party, and the next day boarded the supply plane home, and ended up dead in a plane crash …."

"Coincidence? I don't think so. It occurs to me that maybe Dr Sorenson did find something out there on the ice, maybe recognized it, knew what it was and realized that it was something significant, and decided that he had to have it all to himself …." Hawke theorized now, an expression of deep concentration etched on to this face.

"So, maybe there was a struggle, maybe he fought with the others, maybe he even killed them …. The storm would have made a pretty convenient cover up for murder …. So, now he had the prize all to himself, and I figure he managed to keep it hidden until he left here with it, but, whatever _**it**_ is, it didn't do him any good …." He paused to organize his thoughts before continuing.

"And we have to find it, Dom, whatever it was he found, we have to find it, because it may just be the key to everything that happened here, and the only chance we might have of getting out of here alive …."

"Ah, String …. You're not saying what I think you're saying, are ya?"

"I'm saying we need to go back to the plane crash site and bring back all three of those bodies, so that Leigh can do post mortems on them all. Find out if Dr Sorenson was maybe sicker than they thought when he left here …"

"I think he was very sick, at least in his mind. I think maybe during the flight, the pilot got antsy, noticing something odd about Sorenson's behavior, and maybe decided to turn around and head back to Whiteout Station, and Dr Sorenson couldn't have that ….

"So, maybe he lost control, maybe he tried to take over the controls of the plane and …. That's what caused the crash …."

"I'm saying we need to see what it is he was trying to take with him. What was so important it maybe made him kill for …."

"String, I went out to the Lady, while you were resting …." Santini informed now, and saw the hint of disapproval in his young friend's eyes. "I know what you said, but the weather suddenly cleared and I was worried we might not get another chance," he hurriedly explained.

"I tried to get the radio to work, but there was way too much interference, and I took a look at the weather radar while I was there. It's not good, String. This storm may be clearing, but there's another one hot on its tail …. We seem to be stuck right in the middle of a cluster of storms …. "

"Then we'd better get moving. We need to do this Dom, and we have to do it before the weather closes in on us again. It might be the last chance we get, old friend …." Hawke was reaching out to pat Santini's knee now, fighting back the desire to cough once more. "Before we're both too sick to go anywhere …." He concluded softly.

"Oh hell …."

"I'll go and wake Leigh, tell her what we've decided …."

And with that, Hawke rose, a little stiffly, and ambled back across the recreation room to wake Leigh Roland, having to pause on the way, reaching out to grab a nearby chair for support, his legs suddenly growing weak for a moment, unaware of the look of horror that now crossed his old friend's face, as Dominic Santini watched as the younger man was suddenly consumed by yet another fit of hard, hacking coughs, before recovering at last and continuing on his way.

/a\

"You're both crazy …." Leigh Roland intoned after she had had a few minutes to shake the remnants of sleep from her dull mind and digested what Hawke had just told her.

Upon wakening, she had been a little wary of him, despite the fact that they had talked, really talked.

She had told Hawke everything, unable to stop now that she had started, wanting him to know it all, pouring her heart out to him, about how she had felt to be carrying his child, that she had felt neither shame nor guilt, but had been looking forward to welcoming the new life into the world ….

She had told him about the hopes and dreams and aspirations she had had as she felt the life within her stir. About how difficult life had been for her, being alienated from her family, clinging on to the desperate hope that he would one day return and that perhaps they would be able to pick up where they had left off.

How she had almost died in the delivery room, from blood loss and shock.

How she had wanted to die, when she had learned that her babies were stillborn, and that the trauma of their birth had left her unable to have any more children …

And how, left with no other choice, she had learned to cope with facing each new day, alone, all those years.

She told him too, how she had never stopped loving him, had never thought to love anyone else, until Greg Chandler had come into her life, ten years later, and unexpectedly won her heart.

And how there was never a day that went by without her thinking about her boys, and how they might have grown up, the people they might have become, the things they could have done with their lives ….

How there had not been a single day when she had not thought of him too, and that not once, through it all had she ever regretted loving him.

And bless him, Hawke had listened to every painful word, silently, his gentle fingers stroking her hair, her cheek, her hands ….

Until at last, utterly spent, she had finally drifted off to sleep in his arms.

She was still feeling a little withdrawn, shell shocked, but now that it was all out in the open, she was finding Hawke a little easier to deal with.

For one thing, she wasn't mad with him anymore.

He was alive.

How could she ever be sorry about that?

Her previous anger had all been centered round the shock at finding him alive, and the realization that everything that had happened after she had been told of his death had been a pointless waste ….

Her babies had died in vain.

All these years, she had harbored a small hope that maybe the three of them were all together, that if she could not have her sons with her in this life, they were growing in the light and protection of their father's love, in a better place ….

And then she had found that he was alive ….

And with that discovery had come the stark realization that her sons were alone.

Two nameless babes laid side by side in an unmarked grave on the other side of the world, cold and so very alone ….

Robbed of their lives, denied the warmth and love of their mother and father, deprived of the right to their bright, hopeful futures, the final humiliation for Leigh Roland had been that because they had been denied a Christian burial, because in the eyes of the Church they had never lived, she had no idea where they had been laid to rest, and had therefore been denied a place to go to remember them and grieve for them ….

She could just about accept that for their father, after all, he had never truly belonged to her ….

It was only right that his body be returned to his loved ones back home in America, so that they at least had a place to go to remember him, and grieve for him ….

But not for her sons ….

Seeing him had brought it all back to her, and she had not known how to deal with any of it.

This morning, she had known immediately she had woken and opened her eyes to find him smiling softly down at her, that something was different now.

Firstly, he had come bearing a gift. Fresh, steaming hot coffee. Secondly, his smile had been warm and genuine. His whole manner had changed. Gone was the whole aurora of cold indifference and rigid, barely restrained anger.

He was gentler, less cold and threatening, softer some how, but she had been able to see the hurt and the grief in his eyes, so clearly.

And something else.

Fever.

She had felt the heat radiating off him as he held her, but had thought that it was because of their proximity to each other, his high emotional state.

Now, she could see the tell tales signs of fever burning in those beautiful sky blue eyes, and a deep flush coloring his cheeks.

_**So it was beginning ….**_

_**She had no idea what the hell it was …..**_

_**And she had nothing with which to fight it!**_

She had patiently listened to his proposal to return to the crash site, retrieve the bodies and bring them back here, and his theory about what he suspected had happened aboard the plane, and she knew that what he was proposing was partly to give himself something else to focus on, and she could empathize with him on that.

She also understood that he was trying to show her that he believed her now. That he trusted her.

Demonstrating that he was thinking more clearly. Rationally.

And, she could not help thinking that he was right.

They didn't have all the pieces to the puzzle, and there was no way that they would get the answers that they needed without those missing pieces.

Sven and the crew of the supply plane could provide them with vital clues ….

"Leigh, I don't see that we have any choice …." Hawke protested gruffly now.

"Look, I agree you have something, Hawke. I'd pretty much reached that conclusion for myself last night, but …."

"You need to check the bodies to see if they have the same symptoms as Dr Preston," Hawke insisted, trying to hide the fact that the room was suddenly closing in on him, spinning wildly, just for a moment.

"No, Hawke, what I need to do is check you and Dominic over. I'm still running some tests in the lab, on Shane's blood, so I need to draw blood from all of us, for comparison …."

"Do it when we come back," he snarled.

"No, Hawke, I need to do it now …." She glared at him, and Hawke knew that he wasn't kidding anyone, that he should have realized that he could hide nothing from her knowing eyes.

"Besides, I think you're forgetting something," she drew in a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but unable to hide her irritation at his stubbornness.

Although, she silently conceded, she shared his frustration and the need to be physically doing something to resolve their situation.

He was a man of action. Not made for sitting around, biding his time and waiting when there was something he could be doing to get the answers they needed.

He was on the right track, she was sure of it, just looking in the wrong direction.

He had also obviously forgotten the limitations placed on them by the location and the climate.

"The storm. It didn't just hit here, Hawke," she reminded softly. "The wreckage of that plane will be under several feet of fresh snow by now. I know you can find it with that fancy ruddy helicopter of yours, but do you really think that you and Dominic are up to digging it out?" She reasoned gently now.

"Besides, you say there's another storm on the way. I'm not so sure you'd have enough time to get out there, find the wreckage, dig it out and get back here before the weather deteriorates, or before it gets dark. It's already getting foggy out there. Take a look."

She waved toward the windows and Hawke strode over to peek outside, only to be greeted by a murky gauzy curtain of thick white fog hanging from a dark grey sky.

"I think you could be right, about Sven …. But, all I am saying is, we should look on going back to the plane crash site as a last resort, Hawke …."

"We have to find out what it is we are dealing with, Leigh. How can we fight it, if we don't know what the hell it is! You're a doctor Leigh, you should know that!"

Yes, indeed she did know that, but what he had failed to realize while he was puzzling everything else out, was that if this thing did all start after finding the meteorite, if the scientists here had started to get sick after bringing back the rock from outer space, then, even if she was able to identify the contagion, there might not be any way for her to fight it.

However, Leigh Roland kept these startling and very unnerving thoughts to herself for the moment.

He'd gone ballistic when he thought that they were dealing with chemical or biological weapons ….

She had no idea how he might react if she raised the possibility that what they were actually dealing with was a virus or bacterium of extra terrestrial origin.

That thought scared her witless.

But if they had all been exposed ….

She couldn't see that knowing the cause would help the others to fight it.

Right now, she would worry about that, and give Hawke and Santini something else to focus on.

"Then try looking a little closer to home, that's all I'm saying!"

"What?"

"The labs," she told him, her expression growing solemn and sorrowful now as she inevitably thought about the horror that awaited anyone who went out there. "Something had to have caused the fire, Hawke …. And we need to know if anyone was inside when it went up …."

"She's right, String …." Santini ambled up beside Hawke and peered out of the window into the freezing gloom beyond, a shudder running down his spine.

He did not relish the idea of stepping out there again, but it was infinitely more appealing than flying back to the site of the plane wreck and spending hours digging through heavy, wet snow, feeling sickly and fighting to stay one step ahead of a storm, and nightfall.

"Hawke, I've been asking the same bloody question since we got here …. Where the hell did every body go?"

Setting down her empty coffee cup on the floor and rising agilely from her perch on the mattress, Leigh Roland came up to stand between Hawke and Santini, slipping her arm through the crook of Hawke's right arm gently now, coaxing his gaze away from the blinding white wilderness outside.

"They can't all have just disappeared," she reasoned gently, then allowed her gaze to drift back to the window and he knew that she was thinking about the other block of Nissan huts and the bodies that might be inside.

"Ok, with the three men lost out on the ice, Sven gone on the supply plane, Shane dead, and me off the station that still leaves …. Nineteen people unaccounted for," she withdrew her arm from Hawke's now and began to pace up and down, a frown tugging at her brow.

"Until we know for sure what happened to all of them, we're still only guessing that this illness is a major factor. For all we know, Shane was the only one who died from it," she reasoned, stopping to look back at Hawke and Santini.

"Maybe the others got sick, but survived. Maybe they were able to put out a mayday call and were evacuated by the Russians, and it was the Russians who set fire to the labs to contain whatever it is ...."

"Great theory, Leigh, only it isn't contained," Hawke threw her a meaningful look. "Dom and I both have it …. Maybe you too …."

"We don't now that for sure, Hawke …. That's why I need to run some tests …."

"And if the Russians evacuated the scientists, why haven't they told our side about it?" Dominic Santini asked logically.

"Maybe they thought it would be an ideal opportunity to grill our people about what they were doing here, maybe get in on the action, I don't know …." Her voice was rising in both pitch and volume and she began to pace more quickly, much to Hawke and Santini's amusement now.

"But 'struth, Hawke, nineteen people don't just evaporate, and if there are bodies in the labs, they may give us the answers we're looking for!"

Hawke knew that she was right.

Nineteen people didn't just disappear into thin air, and checking out the labs was less risky than taking Airwolf up, when he and Dominic were feeling below par, and had a storm bearing down on them.

"Look, I know you're not feeling great right now, and I'm not prepared to stick my neck out and say one way or another whether you've been exposed to something or not until I've done some tests, but I'd say that's an even better argument for you not flying out of here on a wild goose chase…." Leigh reasoned gently now, large, luminous amber eyes gazing back at him appealingly.

"What if you get really sick and can't make it back here? What then, Hawke? What happens to me?" she asked softly, hoping to prod his conscience now. "Let me check you over, run a few tests …."

"Oh, alright, dammit …." Hawke hissed impatiently, knowing that she was right about almost everything that she had said.

He still wasn't buying the Russian rescue mission scenario, but everything else she had said made sense.

"Stick your damned needles in us if you have to, but hurry up about it. I want to make a start before it gets too dark …."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Thirteen – Thursday, February 23rd, 1984._**

**_Approximately 2pm local time._**

"Ok, that about wraps it up for now …." Leigh Roland gave Stringfellow Hawke a reassuring smile as she watched his strong, tan fingers pull up the front zipper fastening of his Airwolf flight suit and then secured the Velcro strip across the taut column of his tan throat.

Knowing that Hawke was determined to get on with this, the first thing Leigh had insisted upon was that he and Dominic Santini find out some warmer clothing to slip on over the top of their flight suits, giving them an extra layer of padding against the elements, fearing that their Parka coats would not be warm enough if they were going to be outside for any great length of time, and while Hawke and Santini had sorted something suitable out from their overnight bags, Leigh had done a quick mental check of what she would need, as she had already decided to conduct the medical examinations in the recreation room where it was warmer, thus giving her self a little more time to be thorough.

After returning to sickbay to gather together the things that she needed, Leigh Roland had set up a work station close to the second space heater and set to work on checking out Dominic Santini and Stringfellow Hawke.

She had already drawn the blood she needed both from herself and from Hawke and neatly labeled the two test tubes from each of them, which now sat in a wooden rack on the laminated table before her, alongside the samples she had also taken from Dominic Santini just a few minutes before.

She waited for Hawke to adjust his clothing, pulling on tight denim blue jeans and a deep maroon colored sweater over the top of the flimsy grey flight suit, and then shrugged back into his heavy winter Parka coat, aware of his impatience and frustration as he did so, and then she turned away to fill in the medical chart she had already made out, with basic information like his name, height, weight and date of birth, and a brief medical history, all of which Hawke had supplied for her succinctly, and, in turning away, she missed the odd look of irritation that now crossed Stringfellow Hawke's face.

Leigh Roland's attention was now firmly fixed on the medical chart, and the information that she had noted as she had progressed with her swift examination of Stringfellow Hawke, temperature, pulse, blood pressure, all of which he had endured in tight lipped silence and with ill concealed impatience, knowing that everything that she was doing was necessary, after having watched her conduct a similar examination on Dominic Santini first.

She had been thorough, but very gentle and patient, however, her expression had given little away as to what she had discovered and what she was thinking, and now Leigh could not help thinking that Hawke's impatience stemmed from needing to know just how bad things were at this point.

She cast her eye critically over the information she had written down, and the observations she had made during the examinations, comparing Hawke's and Santini's charts now and chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

Both men had elevated temperatures, both were perspiring and flushed, but that wasn't surprising really.

Both men were also complaining of feeling hot, tired, weak and lethargic, and both had sore throats and a persistent tickling cough.

Hawke's blood pressure was slightly raised, and she could not help thinking that that probably had more to do with his present mood, irritated and frustrated and impatient, as well as the recent emotional shock he had received, and the obvious stress of their present situation, but his heart was sound and his lungs were clear.

From the brief medical history he had given to her, Leigh knew that he had had some of the usual childhood ailments, alongside his older brother, a few broken bones, again, courtesy of some rough and tumble with his brother, St John, and natural youthful exuberance and curiosity, and had suffered some nasty, but not life threatening injuries in Vietnam, but aside from a couple of scars, Stringfellow Hawke was in pretty good shape physically, giving him a good chance of fighting whatever it was they might be dealing with here at Whiteout Station.

_**Not bad for a guy who is supposed to be dead ….**_

_**Not bad at all ….**_

However, Leigh Roland was concerned about Dominic Santini. His blood pressure was high and when she had sounded his chest she had fleetingly thought that she could hear a slight murmur from his heart. Checking a second time, there had been nothing out of the ordinary, but, when she had listened to his lungs, there had been a definite crackling sound on both sides.

According to the brief medical history he had given to her before she began the examination, Dominic Santini had had no serious childhood illnesses that he could recall, and no problems with his heart. He had gruffly and a little resentfully, insisted that he had always been as healthy as a horse in his youth and that even though he realized that he wasn't as young as he used to be and had the odd ache or pain now and again, he still considered himself to be sound of wind and limb.

He was also aware that he needed to shed a little weight and watch his diet a little more, and control his volatile Latin temperament, as his own doctor back in Los Angeles had made him aware that his blood pressure was up and down, but he was adamant that he had never had breathing difficulties or a predisposition to chest infections.

"I'm a professional pilot honey. We have to have regular medical check ups for insurance purposes, and to keep our tickets …." Santini had informed her, bristling indignantly and seeking out Stringfellow Hawke's eyes, and the younger man had smiled softly and nodded in confirmation. "I have to stay fit to keep flying."

Leigh Roland had known that he was right. She had done routine physicals on a couple of patients who were pilots, in the past, and they had told her that what they had to endure at her hands was a piece of cake compared to the strict physical examinations they had to undergo to maintain their licenses and keep themselves insured.

Behind her, Stringfellow Hawke was watching Leigh Roland with a heavy frown creasing his brow, curious to know her medical opinion on their current state of health. However, she had her professional mask in place and was giving nothing away.

He had watched her working, her movements graceful, neat and methodical, but as he had watched her, Stringfellow Hawke had realized that there was something about her that was bugging him.

At first, he couldn't put his finger on it, but now, he suddenly realized what it was, and his eyes grew wide with a flare of irritation.

She was standing there, looking so innocent, deep in concentration, completely unaware that she was using the end of her pencil to scratch at an irritant just below the waist band of her jeans, and the thick, sturdy heel of her left snow boot to rub at some different irritant on her right shin, and Stringfellow Hawke realized what it was that was getting on his nerves.

She hadn't stopped scratching since they had begun the examinations.

He recalled what she had told him about the sweater she was wearing, always causing her some irritation, and that at the time he had thought it amusing, assuming that there was something about the fabric or material it was made from that acted against her skin when she got warm, or maybe she had an allergy, but, watching her now, Hawke realized that she wasn't just scratching in the places where the cream cable knit sweater was in contact with her skin.

She was scratching everywhere, and it was making him feel damned itchy all over too.

"Dammit Leigh, you're driving me crazy! Lemme take a look …."

Stringfellow Hawke suddenly erupted and before she had chance to realize what was happening, Hawke was advancing on her, reaching out and lifting the hem of her sweater, pulling it up gently to expose the sun kissed, silky smooth skin of her beautiful back.

_**Opps …**_

_**Gotchya ….**_

_**Guess you can't hide it any longer ….**_

"For God's sake Hawke!" Leigh protested in shock. "What the hell do you think you're doing! How dare you ...."

_**Damn the man!**_

_**Call yourself a gentleman! **_

_**Huh!**_

"String!" Dominic Santini yelped in startled embarrassment, wondering what the hell his young friend thought he was doing, watching with horror as the younger man roughly hitched up Leigh Roland's sweater high up around her bosom.

"Ohmygod, Leigh …." Hawke exclaimed, as Leigh Roland tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but if was futile, for Hawke was reaching out to grab the nearest hurricane lantern now, trapping her against the table and effectively blocking any escape route with his strong, muscular body, and began waving the softly hissing lantern closer to the expanse of her lovely back, peering more closely at the crop of livid rose petal blister lesions that were dotted all over her back, from the nape of her neck, across her shoulders, disappearing under the straps of her bra, only to reappear below it in the small of her back and down to the waistband of her jeans, and probably beyond ….

She was covered in them.

"What the hell …."

"Happy now!"

Leigh Roland snarled as she finally wrestled herself out of Hawke's way, yanking down the sweater, anger fizzing in her bright amber eyes, but she was startled by the shocked expression she found on Stringfellow Hawke's face when she turned back to confront him, genuinely touched by the horror and the fear that she could see in his deep blue eyes now, and suddenly, she could not stop herself from grinning back at him.

_**Poor baby ….**_

"What the hell is that, Leigh?" Hawke demanded, puzzled by her obvious amusement.

_**What was so damned funny?**_

The rash, for that was obviously what it was, looked nasty, and was obviously very irritating and uncomfortable, and not just restricted to her back, if all that wriggling and scratching that she had been doing were anything to go by, but she was just standing there looking oh so innocent and cute, and grinning like a fool ….

"VZV …." Leigh Roland spluttered, fighting to contain her mirth, relieved that she didn't have to go on hiding just how miserable and uncomfortable she felt, because she didn't want Hawke to worry that she had something terminal and once again jump to the wrong conclusion.

_**Too late ….**_

However, the hard, angry look on his face now told her clearly that he was worried that the rash she had was some further indication that what was loose here at Whiteout was nasty and virulent, and that it was the next thing that he and Dominic Santini could look forward to on top of everything else.

Well, he wasn't _**all**_ wrong ….

_**Gonna need an ocean of Calamine Lotion …. **_

The lyrics of some old cornball song suddenly flashed through Leigh Roland's mind, and she had to quash the urge to giggle.

_**True, but it ain't Poison Ivy ….**_

"VZV …" Hawke echoed, and suddenly Leigh Roland could see the cogs working in his mind, presenting him with an image of a sterile lab and men and women working to create some kind of toxic biological or chemical weapon.

This thought instantly sobered Leigh Roland.

_**Lord, he really does have a one track mind ….**_

"Varicella Zoster Virus …." She told him calmly, trying to keep a straight face now, but failing miserably, pausing for effect, but when she saw the flicker of fear in his beautiful blue eyes, Leigh knew that it was time to put Hawke out of his misery.

She drew in a deep, calming breath and expelled it slowly.

"Chicken Pox to you," Leigh Roland clarified in her best professional tones. "Not very pleasant. Completely embarrassing and totally humiliating at my age, but, fortunately, definitely not fatal …."

Although, also not completely complication free for older people, like Dominic Santini, Leigh reminded herself silently.

"Chicken Pox …." Hawke echoed in incredulity. "_**That's**_ what's been making you feel under the weather? Damned Chicken Pox!" His voice was rising in volume, but then suddenly, much to Leigh Roland's surprise, Stringfellow Hawke's face crumpled into the most beautiful smile and he began to laugh.

_**Ratbag, you're enjoying this!**_

Leigh Roland found herself thinking. But she didn't mean it unkindly, watching him with a much lighter heart.

It was just so good to see something other than a dangerous, threatening, distrustful scowl clouding his handsome features, and reminded her again of the shy, sensitive, bashful and loving young man she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

It was a sweet reaction, an expression of genuine relief that she wasn't suffering from some horrible, disfiguring, maybe fatal disease, and at the same time, completely transformed him, the years falling away, leaving behind the handsome, dashing youth of thirteen years ago, and just for an instant, her heart constricted in her chest and she felt tears stinging in her eyes, as she experienced the same rip tide of grief and terror and misery slam through her, just as it had on that awful day in April 1972, and she had had to face the fact that she would never see that wonderful face, or the sparkle of love and laughter and life in those exquisite deep blue eyes again ….

"Chicken Pox?" Dominic Santini eyed Leigh Roland nervously, far from amused, ignoring his young friend's mirth. "Is that what we've got?"

Leigh Roland pulled her thoughts together and exhaled deeply, shrugging her shoulders non comittally.

True, some of the symptoms that both men were displaying could be mistaken for the beginnings of Chicken Pox, along with any number of other innocuous, non life threatening infections and viruses but, she also knew that it was too soon for them to be presenting with symptoms.

Chicken Pox required ten to twenty one days to incubate, and they had only been in contact with her, for the last forty eight hours, although she knew now that she had been infectious when she had attended the meeting at Knightsbridge at the beginning of the week, and before then too.

Chicken Pox was spread by water droplet, exhaled by the infected patient, so in all likelihood, they had probably both been exposed to it on Monday, as had Senator Gilroy, Archangel and anyone else who had come into contact with her at Knightsbridge ….

There was nothing that she could do about that now, although she felt a pang of guilt about Sam Gilroy.

She hadn't had the rash then, so there was no way that she could have known that it wasn't just a head cold as she had insisted in the beginning.

Chicken pox was still contagious even after the development of the rash and stayed infectious until the very last lesion had broken and crusted over, a period of several days, as new lesions broke out every day for about five days after the initial outbreak.

Which meant that even now she was still infectious.

Having been exposed, if Hawke and Santini were susceptible, it would be at least another week before either of them would begin to display distinct symptoms like the rash.

However, they didn't need to know that, she reasoned silently.

They both had _**something**_ that was making them feel off color right now ….

Giving it a name didn't make it any easier to fight, but psychologically it might just make some difference.

Which was worse?

Knowing that you had some unknown virus or bacterium from the far reaches of space, or Chicken Pox ….

She had no cure for either, but Chicken Pox was the least likely to kill any of them.

And, it wouldn't hurt to let both men go on thinking that maybe that was all they had, and give her self time to find out what was really loose here at Whiteout and work on a way of fighting it.

Before she got sick too.

Although, now that she actually had time to stop and think about it, she didn't feel nearly as wretched as she had for the past few days ….

_**Apart from the damned itching of course!**_

But, she didn't know if that was a good sign, or a bad one.

The fact that she already had a virus might make a difference to the way her body reacted to whatever the contagion was that was in the air here at Whiteout Station ….

But in what way, only time would tell.

However, now that he was finally pulling himself together, the look that Stringfellow Hawke was aiming in her direction told Leigh Roland that he wasn't buying it, and that he knew that he and Dominic Santini were still in deep trouble.

They may very well have Chicken pox, but it was what Hawke was rapidly coming to think of as the Whiteout plague that was in danger of killing them before they succumbed to the discomfort and humiliation of the telltale rash.

"Doc?" Santini probed, evidently dissatisfied with her answer.

"I don't know, Dominic. I need to get to work on these blood samples, compare them with Shane's, then maybe I can give you an answer …. It also very much depends on whether you had it as a child …."

Leigh now regarded both men expectantly and was rewarded by a gentle shake of the head from both of them.

It was unusual, but not unheard of, she admitted silently to herself, after all, she was the perfect example of someone who had never had the illness as a child, and although she had probably been exposed to it several times during her working life as a doctor, it had taken accidental exposure, probably from breathing recycled air in the enclosed cabin during the commercial airline flight home to Los Angeles, or maybe from contact with the students on campus at UCLA, for her to actually catch it, at the grand old age of thirty two.

"Then I guess all we can do is wait and see …."

"C'mon Dom, we've got work to do too …." Stringfellow Hawke let out heavy sigh now, his thoughts turning to the gruesome task of investigating the burned out ruin of the other block of Nissan huts.

"You should both eat something first …." Leigh Roland pointed out. "You need to keep up your strength …." She added lamely as she noted the sour looks on both men's faces and realized that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea, with what they were about to face.

"Later, Leigh. If we don't make a start, we'll lose the light," Hawke's expression said it all. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he didn't want to be dragging around a belly full of food, only to run the risk of losing it again if they did come across human remains in the labs, and Leigh Roland nodded softly in understanding.

As both men gathered flashlights and hurricane lanterns together, Leigh Roland watched with concern as Dominic Santini seemed very breathless and wheezy, and then he was coughing again, but he continued to prepare himself for the task ahead, despite Stringfellow Hawke's anxious looks in his direction, and glowered meaningfully at the younger man as he excused himself to use the bathroom before they set out.

"I'm worried about Dom …." Hawke shared his concerns with Leigh Roland when they were alone.

"Me too," she admitted with a gentle sigh.

She was worried about Hawke too, but was suddenly shy of admitting that to his face.

It was hard enough to be feeling that way again after all this time, but nor could she get away from the guilt and sorrow that she was feeling about her husband, Greg Chandler, and the increasing fear that he too was dead.

"How bad is it?" Hawke fixed her with steely eyes now, his expression stern. "Really …."

"Relax, Hawke," she was a little reluctant to meet his gaze now, and Hawke suspected that it had something to do with doctor patient confidentiality. "He's ok …." She added seeing the tight expression on his face, along with the anxiety.

"Leigh …." Hawke implored softly, and she could not mistake the fear in his eyes now. "Please …."

They were about to embark on a very distasteful and possibly dangerous endeavor, and aside from the fact that he obviously cared very deeply for his old friend, he was also worried about how they would cope, if Dominic Santini suddenly took a turn for the worse.

He wanted to know what to look out for so that he could help his old friend back inside and get him to medical assistance as quickly as possible.

"Ok …. Ok …." Leigh placated with a wistful sigh, understanding his point of view, even though it went very much against the grain and all her years of training. "His lungs are a little congested, and I'm concerned that that cough is getting worse, but by and large, he's doing ok …."

However, the look he was giving her now clearly said if that was the case, why did she still look so worried?

"I'm not lying to you. Look, Hawke, it's just that as a doctor, I'm a little more aware that something like this is going to be harder on an older man like Mr Santini. The elderly and the very young are always more vulnerable …. Their immune systems are naturally weaker …." She explained gently.

"But Mr Santini seems to have been in good general health before all this …. I guess, since we don't really know what we're dealing with, all we can do is keep an eye on each other …."

Hawke nodded his thanks to her now, appreciating her candor, but then he grew pensive.

"What do you want us to do? If …. We do find some thing …. Someone …. Over there, Leigh?" He asked in a ragged, raspy voice, unusually reticent as he deliberately kept his tone and his expression, gentle and understanding.

"Leave them where you find them," she told him firmly, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice now as she realized what he was thinking.

"Don't try to move them. Just come back and tell me, and then I'll go and take the samples I need …."

"Leigh, I don't think you should …." He reached out for her hand now, squeezing it gently as he gazed deeply into her big amber eyes.

"Look Hawke, I know you're trying to spare my feelings. I know that if you do find human remains over there, one of them might very well be Greg …." Her voice trailed away momentarily as she gulped down the lump that was suddenly blocking her throat.

"I know that Hawke, and I'm grateful for your sensitivity, but …."

She let out a deep, ragged breath, hanging her head briefly while she wrestled with her emotions then raised her head once more to fix him with a steady, amber gaze, her chin raised in defiant determination, as she squeezed his hand in return, before gently pulling her fingers from his grasp.

"I'm just being sensible. I have to approach this as a doctor and a scientist, not as a wife. We need answers, so I need to be detached and get on with doing my job …. What is it you think you are going to find? I'm no expert, but with the kind of temperatures we're looking at over there; it's possible that you won't find anything even remotely recognizable as human remains …."She let out a shaky breath.

"And if you do …. Frankly Hawke, if they are all over there …. We don't have the room in sickbay to store nineteen bodies …." She reminded him, regretting her bluntness when she saw him wince, but then his expression changed, as Hawke realized that she was right, and, that she was also strong enough to deal with whatever they found.

He also realized that in practical terms, none of them would have the strength to transport nineteen bodies from the research labs to sickbay and that it was probably more dignified and respectful to leave the poor souls where they had fallen ….

"Besides, I'm going to have to go and take a look sooner or later Hawke, because someone will have to try to identify them …." She pointed out sorrowfully now. "Somehow …."

"Make a note of the location and then come back and tell me. We can all go back together, if that's how you want to play it, and, once I've seen the remains, if I think it warrants bringing a body back to do a full autopsy, then we can all three of us haul it back here, but right now, I don't want you overdoing it. We don't know if physical exertion is something that will speed up the progress of the disease …." She told him, resisting the sudden urge to trace her finger down his rough, stubble covered jaw.

"Ok," Hawke acquiesced, spotting Dominic Santini returning now, struggling to fasten his Parka coat over the top of the heavy black pullover and pants that he had slipped on over his flight suit.

"Be careful …." Leigh Roland reached out and placed a soft, warm hand on Hawke's forearm now.

"Youbetchya …."Hawke smiled, genuinely touched by her concern, and the love she could not disguise, shining in her soft, teddy bear eyes. "C'mon Dom, time's a wastin'…."

/a\

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Thirteen – Thursday, February 23rd, 1984._**

**_Approximately 2.30pm local time._**

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Stringfellow Hawke regarded is old friend with concern and waited for Dominic Santini to get his breath back after another coughing fit.

They were standing just inside the set of swing doors that lead out to the draughty covered walkway between the main accommodation block and the research labs, and even though they hadn't opened the door yet, there was a marked difference in the temperature at this end of the corridor.

As soon as the colder air from outside, which was seeping in between the hinges and through the gaps around the door frame, had hit Dominic Santini it had immediately robbed him of his breath and he had begun to cough violently.

Hawke too had felt his throat spasm, but after coughing once or twice to clear the tickle from the back of his throat, had soon recovering his wind.

The cold draught came as a welcome relief to Hawke's flushed, overheated face, which was framed by the fur from the hood of his Parka coat, which he had pulled up over his head.

A shiver running down the length of his spine now, Hawke knew that Leigh had been right to insist that they put on warmer clothes, for if they had tried to spend more than a few minutes outside in just their Airwolf flight suits and the Parka coats, they would have soon lost all their retained body heat and then they would both have been in serious trouble.

"Bit late to be asking me now, kid, when I'm standing here freezing my keister off again …." Santini grouched, although they both knew that the majority of Whiteout Station was just as frigidly cold and that there was no comfort to be found anywhere except sitting huddled around the space heaters in the recreation room and kitchen.

They had helped Leigh Roland to relocate to sickbay because all the equipment that she needed to conduct her tests was there, and she had wanted to take another look at Shane Preston's body, to see if she could find out any more information about how the contagion affected the body and how quickly it progressed, so that she might have a better idea what to look out for in each of them.

Stringfellow Hawke had made it clear that he was not prepared to allow her to spend any more time in sickbay without some kind of heat source, so he had pushed the space heater while Leigh had carried the rack of blood samples and her notes and the bottomless thermos that Dominic Santini had brought on the trip, filled with steaming hot coffee, and Dominic Santini had trailed behind them, carrying four hurricane lanterns, two for sickbay so that Leigh could see properly, and one each for himself and Hawke for their trek outside.

Once there, Leigh Roland had produced a blueprint of the station from a filing cabinet drawer labeled Emergency Procedures, unraveling it on an empty gurney as she pointed out the various labs on the plan and named each occupant allocated to each lab.

"When we get outta this, somebody owes me a vacation in the sun …." Santini panted, grey eyes filling with tears as the cold bit into his face and he tugged his hood a little closer around his cheeks. "I'm thinking maybe Hawaii or Florida, or even one of those Caribbean cruise malarkeys …." Santini ended the sentence with another deep cough.

Stringfellow Hawke turned to regard his friend, arching his eyebrow sardonically.

"I'm good. Really …." Santini insisted now, knuckling away tears, although Hawke threw him another look that told the older man very clearly that he knew differently.

"Lets just get on with it, huh; String, then we can get back inside where it's warm."

"Sure …."

"Then what are you waitin' for? I figure hell froze over already …." Santini mumbled miserably, but his remark still managed to raise a rueful smile from his companion.

As they had made their way slowly through the cold, dark, deserted corridors of Whiteout Station to the covered walkway that connected the two blocks, Stringfellow Hawke had briefly outlined his plan, and passed on Leigh Roland's instructions about what to do if they found anything.

It was Hawke's intention to search all the outbuildings first, and then begin their investigation of the labs.

He had decided that it made good sense that while they still had a good portion of their physical strength, they should check out the sheds and warehouses and then make their way to the labs and the relative protection from the elements that it would offer them, and he wanted to be sure that they had finished with the outbuildings before they lost the day light.

Hawke figured that they had about four hours of daylight left, but that would be considerably reduced if the weather closed in once more. However, the flimsy gauze of freezing fog that hung, still and silent, all around was giving an impression of increased brightness from outside.

Their main priority was the research labs, but Hawke knew that they had time to check out the sheds and warehouses properly and if they found anything that might be useful, anything that would make their stay here more comfortable, anything that could keep them alive until help arrived, between them, they could carry it back to the main accommodation block.

With the exception of using Airwolf's radio, Hawke did not want to have to make too many more trips outside, especially if they were both sick.

"Set?"

"Set," Santini responded, setting down his hurricane lantern on the floor next to Hawke's, away from the swing doors, ready to be collected on the way back to the research labs, then checked to make sure that his flashlight still worked by briefly shining the beam into his meaty left palm.

"Stay close," Hawke advised as he reached out and pushed open the heavy fire door, immediately blasted full in the face by a rush of freezing air that made him gasp.

"Yeah, yeah …."

Stringfellow Hawke set out slowly, taking a left turn as he exited the door and followed the edge of the main accommodation block, moving cautiously on the slippery, icy ground, peering through the fog, feeling its penetrating moisture clinging to his cheeks and chin, his breath erupting from his lips in ragged puffs of vapor.

He could just make out Dominic Santini's faint footfalls behind him, the fog muffling every sound, including their ragged breathing.

They trudged carefully away from the main accommodation block and research labs heading around the back of the main accommodation block, to the row of sheds where Leigh Roland had found the emergency heating and lighting supplies.

Now that the wind had dropped, the door that had been banging violently against the neighboring shed was now just creaking softly in the occasional movement of air.

The first shed in the row was padlocked and secure, Hawke quickly discovered, and as it had no windows for him to peer inside, he moved on to the next.

This shed door was secured with bolts at top and bottom which were rusty and stiff with the cold and were hard for Hawke to move with his gloved fingers, but eventually he persuaded the bolts back and the door popped open with an eerie creak.

Coming up behind him, puffing heavily, Dominic Santini flicked on his flashlight and aimed the beam inside, revealing that the shed was crammed full of drilling equipment, tools and safety equipment, ropes and spare parts all haphazardly strewn across the floor.

Amongst the mess, Hawke recognized various lengths of metal piping which had once been stacked neatly in a corner, but which had toppled over and were now littering the floor, all showing signs of recent use with clumps of dried mud adhering to the outside, and several drill bits also clogged with rock and dried mud, that even to Hawke's inexperienced eye appeared to be bent and twisted out of shape.

There was a rack across the back wall with several bright yellow hard hats sitting on their pegs, and several others lay on the floor, all of them with huge dents running down the length of the crown, obviously crushed by force, probably bashed in with a length of metal pipe.

With a rush of hope flooding through him, Hawke spotted a rusting old gasoline fired generator in the far back corner to his left, and two cans of gasoline behind it, and quickly surmised that it was probably what the geological team used to drive the drill through the layers of rock and ice, but he wasn't sure if it was large enough to jerry rig with the power supply in the main accommodation block and provide them with enough power to heat and light the recreation room.

However, as Dominic Santini waved the beam of the flashlight over the rusting hulk, Hawke felt a flare of anger, quickly followed by crushing disappointment, like a clenched fist closing around his heart, as he realized that someone had taken a sledge hammer to the thing in a bid to disable it.

"What the hell got into these people?" Santini panted from behind Hawke's left ear. "Treating their equipment this way …."

"C'mon, gotta keep moving," Hawke mumbled, stepping back from the door so that he could shut it and secure the bolts once more, feeling pretty much like he was shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, but reminded himself that he was only repeating what someone else had done before him and found that both curious and confusing.

Someone had obviously let rip in there, venting their anger and frustration, and then someone else had come along and simply closed the door on the mess, probably intending to return and straighten it out later.

Maybe feeling that it they ignored it, it would all just go away ….

Hawke felt a cold shiver run down the length of his spine, but it had nothing to do with the weather, as he began to speculate silently to himself, wondering if he and Dominic Santini had some kind of madness to look forward to, another symptom of this unknown contagion.

Senseless violence, driven by irrational, uncontrollable rage and the thought made his heart lurch in his chest.

"String …." Santini was calling him now and Hawke realized that the older man had moved on to the next shed and was waiting for him.

They continued on down the row of sheds, finding some padlocked, others unlocked and in a similar state of disarray to the equipment shed, and like the one that Leigh had opened up to reveal the emergency heating and lighting equipment, they were stocked with mundane things like spare pieces of office equipment still in their boxes and crates, a pair of broken step ladders, odd pieces of broken furniture, boxes of light bulbs, a couple of huge dented and scorched cooking pots and spare walkie-talkies and their batteries, alongside crates of neatly labeled parts for the radio, the heating system, the generators, and the snow mobiles.

There were replacement motors for the freezer in the kitchen and elements for the electric stoves, a crate of different sized taps, and one containing fill valves for the lavatories, and Hawke came to the conclusion that the sheds served the purpose of storing items that might be required in the future and items that were defunct or broken, to be disposed of at some point in the future.

As they continued to look around, Hawke began to wonder about the logistics of setting up a place like Whiteout Station.

How, for example, had they gotten all the building materials up here to the top of the world? With the mountainous terrain surrounding the station, and no where suitable for a runway, it was highly unlikely that they had flown the materials and equipment up here in the small supply plane, and curious, Hawke made a mental note to ask Leigh Roland when they got back inside, just how they had gone about getting the Nissan huts and the snow mobiles and the other heavy machinery up here.

With a deepening sense of unease, they moved on, retracing the path that Hawke had taken with Leigh Roland, back around the other end of the accommodation block and around the front, making for the warehouses and vehicle shed.

Inside the vehicle shed they found everything exactly as they had left it when they had arrived the previous day and after briefly hunting around for anything that might prove useful, disappointed, they again moved on.

Hawke moved on beyond warehouse number two where Airwolf was safely shut away from the elements, his intention to come back here when they were done searching everywhere else, and try to use the radio.

He wanted to be armed with as much information as he could gather just in case they got lucky and connected with either Nome, or Archangel.

However, as he trudged on, his legs feeling like lead as he waded through deeper, virgin snow, his chest tight from dragging in the freezing air, turning around the corner of warehouse number two to carry on to warehouse number one, Hawke realized that Dominic Santini was flagging, falling behind, so he stopped, waiting for the older man to catch up with him again.

As he turned back to watch his old friend laboring through the freezing fog, the heavy soles of his snow boots working hard to find purchase on the icy ground, Hawke could tell that his old friend was suffering, hunched up inside his Parka coat, body bent as he concentrated on moving one foot in front of the other and trying to drag in enough air to keep going, and then suddenly, Santini was stumbling, his booted right foot connecting with something solid, and Hawke watched in horror as the older man pitched forward and fell heavily into a mound of snow.

"Dom!" Hawke yelled as he rushed back to help his old friend, feet slipping and sliding on patches of ice and then digging into new snow and before he realized what was happening, Hawke too was floundering, his feet hitting something solid, and in the next instant he found himself sprawled on the ground, flat on his face, the wind knocked out of him momentarily, nose buried in new snow, and then, cursing himself for his stupidity and clumsiness, he rolled over on to his back and tried to sit up, to see what it was that had tripped him.

To his absolute horror, Stringfellow Hawke suddenly found himself looking into the face of a man, the snow which had covered his body having fallen away from his blue tinged face, dislodged by Hawke's contact with it.

Hawke drew in a startled breath as he realized what he was looking at and then he was scrambling back to the body, brushing more snow away from it, revealing a man of about fifty years of age, clad in ordinary indoor clothes and clutching the missing Colt 45 hand gun in his right hand.

"String!" Dominic Santini's anxious voice suddenly penetrated Hawke's frozen mind and he scrabbled crab like away from the dead man and stumbling to his feet staggered the short distance to where Dominic Santini still sat, a sickly look on his grey face, eyes wide, breath coming in short, ragged little puffs.

"You ok, Dom?" Hawke gasped as he fell to his knees beside Santini, reaching out to support the older man, slipping his arm around his broad shoulders, as Santini was suddenly overcome by another fit of harsh, hacking coughs, bringing tears to his eyes, but even as he was overcome with the coughing fit, Santini's eyes never left the mound of snow he was sitting beside, mesmerized by it, and Hawke found his gaze drawn to it too.

"Ohmygod …." He gasped as he realized that there was another body, half buried in the snow, a bluish colored hand and part of a booted leg plainly visible, were Santini had made contact as he fell.

"Dom …." Hawke regarded his old friend with deep concern, his voice rough and ragged as he panted for breath.

"I'm ok …." Santini chocked out, wheezing painfully and dragging in lungs full of the moist, frigid air. "Is that what I think it is?" He asked in between coughs and gasps for breath.

"Yeah. There's another one over there …." Hawke indicated with a slight inclination of his head. "He's got the missing 45 …."

Hawke's gaze now returned to the other body in the snow beside Santini.

"Go on …." Santini gave the younger man a gentle prod now. "Better take a look."

There was a look of horror and distaste on Santini's familiar, rumpled old face now, but Hawke was relieved to see that he was regaining both his breath and his composure.

Hawke approached the second body in the snow cautiously, although he knew with absolute certainty that the poor soul was dead. Buried under a pile of snow for Lord knew how long and then frozen over, then more snow had fallen on top of that, there was no way that anyone could still be alive under those circumstances.

Kneeling beside the mound now, Hawke carefully brushed away the snow and ice until he had uncovered one half of the body, revealing torso, shoulders and face.

Again it was a male, aged somewhere in his mid forties, wearing indoor clothes and a dark green Parka coat, lying half on his side, but with his neck twisted at an odd angle, his blue tinged face frozen in an expression of shock, and framed by a neatly trimmed black beard, blue eyes open and staring unseeingly up at the unbroken expanse of white waste land beyond the compound.

Hawke gave an involuntary shudder as he realized that the man's neck had been broken.

Frowning, Hawke carefully rose to his feet and dusting the snow and ice from his clothing turned back to look in the direction of the other body.

"String?" Santini watched Hawke curiously now, also trying to rise to his feet, now that he had recovered himself.

"Something doesn't add up …." Hawke mumbled absently, eyes fixed on the other body, the one that he had stumbled over. "I need to go take another look …."

"Ok …." Santini stumbled a little on a patch of ice as he made to follow him.

"No Dom, you stay here, get your second wind. I won't be a minute …."

Striding out carefully, feeling his feet skidding and sliding beneath him on the virgin ice and snow, Hawke returned to the first body and hunkered down beside it once more, brushing off more snow to reveal more of the dead man, continuing to frown as he observed the gun in the man's right hand, and his finger hooked around the trigger as though he had let off a round even as he was dying.

But how had he died? Hawke mused, for there was no obvious sign of the manner of the man's demise.

Hawke worked to brush off more snow, and then leaned over the body to scoop out handfuls of frozen snow from behind the body, giving a start as he suddenly came up with a hand full of dark crimson colored snow.

Hawke scuttled around the other side of the body and after moving a little more snow was quickly able to see that the man had a six inch screw driver driven deep into his back, just below his left shoulder blade, and he immediately realized that it must have penetrated the man's heart, certainly a lung, and that it had obviously caused the man to bleed to death.

As Hawke rose carefully to his feet, there was one more question burning in his brain.

_**Who had **__**the man been shooting at?**_

From the angle of the hand with the gun in it, Hawke didn't think it was the man Dominic had stumbled over, even taking into account the way he had fallen into the snow.

Besides, that man had a broken neck, not a gunshot wound, he reminded himself, eyes narrowing as he looked from one body to the other and tried to weigh up the situation, the cold making his mind slow and sluggish now.

Hawke reached out and carefully dislodged the weapon from the dead man's hand, quickly checking the chamber to see how many rounds were still inside.

There were four bullets still in the chamber, which meant that two had been fired.

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Hawke as he scanned the terrain around and beyond where Dominic Santini was now standing, still bent over as he panted breathlessly, and his gaze came to rest upon another mound of icy snow about fifty yards to Santini's left, ahead of Hawke's own position, heading off toward the compound's far boundary, and another about a hundred yards behind Santini and to his right, heading away from the main accommodation block and the line of sheds.

Mindful of taking another tumble, his heart thudding erratically in his chest as he carefully slipped the Colt into the pocket of his Parka, Hawke hurried over to the mound in front of him, wading through snow that was almost calf deep now, and seeing his young friend anxiously hurrying away to his left, Santini began to follow.

Dominic Santini came to a standstill beside Hawke, who had again fallen to his knees in a small bank of fresh snow, and was once again scooping out handfuls of snow and ice, brushing them off what Santini knew in his heart was another body, breathing hard, his face set in a grim mask of fury and determination.

"Oh God …." Santini gasped as Hawke suddenly stopped digging, recoiling in shock and falling backwards to land heavily on his backside on a patch of compact snow and ice, his efforts finally revealing a face. "Geez …."

Lying face up in the snow was the body of a woman, with a bullet hole slap bang in the middle of her forehead just below the hairline. Dead, dull brown eyes gazed back at Hawke as he got to his knees and crawled forward for a closer look

The woman was quite attractive, if you ignored the scorched gaping black hole in her forehead, aged somewhere in her late thirties, maybe early forties, mouse brown hair streaked through with soft blonde highlights and a startled expression on her neat, pleasant features.

Hawke swallowed convulsively, then forcing his gaze away, he clambered to his feet and made his way back to the edge of the main accommodation block and beyond, leaving Santini standing beside the body of the dead woman.

Hawke fell to his knees once more, breathless, rage burning deep inside his chest as he worked furiously to remove the snow and ice, revealing a fourth body, that of another man, lying face down in the snow, a large hole in the centre of his back, scorch marks burned into the fabric of his coat and dark black blood spattered around the wound.

This, Hawke reasoned, was the target the first man had had in his sights, the manner of his death obviously a gunshot wound.

Suddenly feeling dizzy and nauseous, Stringfellow Hawke scrambled away from the body, breathing hard, bright blue eyes darting from one to the other of the bodies, mind working frantically to try to piece together what had happened as he tried not to heave and retch and tasting acid and bile in the back of his throat.

Dominic Santini made his way carefully and cautiously to where his young friend Hawke sat, the younger man scowling darkly, as he surveyed the scene of carnage around him, and bending over to get his breath, Santini reached out to offer the younger man his hand.

"I'm ok," Hawke assured after Santini had helped him to his feet and both men had gotten their balance, responding to the anxious look on the older man's face.

"What the hell happened here, String?" Santini asked in a ragged whisper. "What the hell happened to these people?"

"I don't know, Dom …. It looks like the man with the gun shot the woman, and this fella here …. But the other guy's neck is broken, so, maybe this fella was attacking him and the man with the gun tried to stop him …." Hawke surmised, dragging in a deep, calming breath, realizing as he did so that he could feel snow flakes stinging his cheeks now.

"The man with the gun has a screw driver in his back …." His voice trailed away as he felt more snow stinging his face and watched a few flakes drift past Dominic Santini's head now.

"We better get moving Dom, looks like the weather is about to take a turn for the worse …."

"What about these folks?"

"Leigh said to leave them," Hawke let out a deep ragged breath. "They're beyond anyone's help now Dom, and we need to get in out of the weather," he reasoned, reaching out to slip his arm around Santini's broad shoulders, turning him back the way they had been headed before they both took a tumble.

"You ok?"

"Dumb question, kid, whatdya think?" Santini gave a deep sigh, eyes roaming around the bleached, icy landscape as he took a careful step forward. "I've seen a lot of things in my time, String …."

"I know. Me too," Hawke growled through his teeth, keeping in step beside Santini. "You didn't hurt yourself?" He regarded his old friend with genuine concern now.

"Nah …. Just a little shaken up," Santini assured now, moving with a little more confidence, if not any great speed. "You?"

"I'm ok …."

Shocked and appalled by what they had discovered so far, but physically, Hawke was not feeling too bad. He still felt tired and weak, breathless and feverish, but he didn't think it was any worse than when they had started out.

However, Dominic Santini did not look too good, and Hawke realized that aside from the shock they had both just received, the older man was suffering physically too.

They needed to get a move on.

"What else are we gonna find, String?" Santini asked with a note of trepidation in his voice now.

"I don't, but somehow I don't think this one has a happy ever after ending …. Look Dom, why don't you go back inside? Get warm. Get some rest …."

"No way," Santini glared back at Hawke, even as he felt another coughing spasm coming on and raised his clenched fist to cover his mouth. "I'm not leaving you …." He spluttered as he smothered the cough.

"Ok …." Hawke acquiesced softly, watching the older man struggling to get his breath. "If the weather is going to get bad, we need to mark the location of the bodies so that we can find them again under fresh snowfall …."He pointed out raggedly, his whole body shaking now, with anxiety and shock and the cold seeping in through the damp patches on his jeans where he had fallen in the snow, and he knew that Dominic Santini must be feeling exactly the same way.

"Well come on then …." Santini nodded in agreement, seeing the sense in what the younger man was proposing, then drawing himself up to his full height and pinning a determined expression on his familiar old face, dragging in another deep, ragged breath, added. "Let's get moving …."

/a\

In sickbay, Leigh Roland caught her bottom lip between her teeth and again peered closely at the slide she had under the microscope.

It was a sample of tissue taken from Shane Preston's brain, and although her initial examination during the original autopsy had shown nothing unusual with the organ in question, she had decided to take another look.

She had seen with her own eyes the evidence of the frenzied attacks on the equipment around the station, and had begun to wonder if there might be a connection with the contagion.

If the madness was a symptom of the disease, and not just severe isolation sickness, then there should be some physiological evidence of it in Shane Preston's body, especially in his brain tissue.

However, as she peered at the slide again, Leigh let out a deep sigh of disappointment, for she could see nothing out of the ordinary in the sample.

Still chewing on her lip, Leigh moved away from the microscope and leaned heavily against the work counter, wracking her brain for answers.

There was something she was missing.

She was sure of it.

Some vital clue ….

_**Think dammit!**_

Something that she had seen ….

Heard ….

However, she could not get her mind off Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini, and how they were fairing out there.

However, they were on their own, and standing here fretting over the pair of them wouldn't do any of them any good.

She needed to concentrate, she told herself sternly.

_**Think, woman.**_

She had already run the tests on all their blood samples and had compared them with the blood sample she had taken from Shane Preston. It had been difficult to spot without the aid of the electron microscope, but eventually Leigh had found that they all had something in common.

A virus.

However, it was like nothing that she had ever seen before, and, she had found herself thinking with horror, like nothing she had ever seen in nature before either.

Was it of extra terrestrial origin?

Again, the thought terrified her.

If that was the case, she had no idea how to fight it.

Naturally, because the viral load had been heaviest in Shane Preston's sample, she had been able to see it under the highest magnification of her microscope. It wasn't surprising that the contagion was so prevalent if Preston had been one of the first to be infected, but Leigh was concerned to find that it was heavier in Santini's blood than Hawke's and her own, reproducing much more quickly, endorsing her fears that he was at much greater risk than she and Hawke were.

However, there was something else that Leigh Roland had found rather strange and curious.

In her own sample, the virus didn't seem to be quite so energetic, reproducing much more slowly, the cell structure appearing weak.

However, at this precise moment, she had no idea what that meant exactly, if it meant anything at all. After all, it might just be due to her having to strain to even be able to see it clearly. Her eyes were so tired they were stinging and watering, which also made it hard to focus and see the sample properly, and in this relatively poor light, she was probably running the risk of going blind at this rate ….

If it was significant, it could be down to any number of reasons, maybe something as crazy as the fact that she was female, the virus reacting in a different way to the different hormones in her body.

It could be something.

Or it could be nothing at all.

It could just be down to the luck of the draw and natural immunity.

She and Hawke were both younger than Dominic Santini, and both were vegetarians. That could have something to do with it too ….

However, Leigh suspected that she was clutching at straws.

Lifestyle sometimes made a difference in the protection against disease, but usually in the long term.

If you were careful what you ate now, stopped smoking, watched your alcohol intake and did more exercise, you might just save yourself a fatal heart attack twenty years down the road ….

There was something else, she knew it, but it remained elusive to her as she stood there chewing on her lip, mind wandering to the research labs and what Hawke and Santini might discover over there. Gregory Chandler's laughing face and puppy dog eyes suddenly drifting into her minds eye, calling to mind sweet memories of the short time they had been granted together, and she felt tears sting in the corners of her eyes once more.

_**Stop it, kiddo ….**_

_**It's not helping anyone ….**_

_**Not Greg, nor Hawke or Dominic Santini ….**_

_**Least of all you!**_

_**So pull yourself together.**_

_**There has to be an answer …. **_

_**There just has to, and it's up to you to find it!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Thirteen – Thursday, February 23rd, 1984._**

**_Approximately 5pm local time._**

By the time Hawke and Santini had found more back up lighting and heating supplies and hauled them back to the covered walkway to take inside later, and then returned to the sheds to find what they needed to mark the locations of the four bodies they had discovered, finding out lengths of metal pipe and tools with long wooden handles, like spades and ice picks, and pick axes, that they could hammer into the ice and snow beside each body, and which would remain visible even in a further heavy snowfall, the freezing fog had lifted, shifted and dispersed by the increasing wind velocity.

It had quickly been replaced by snow, which was now falling heavily, in a silent, swirling torrent, radically reducing visibility and making the ground beneath their feet even more treacherous, as Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini reached warehouse number one and wrestled with the heavy lock and bolts, stumbling gratefully inside out of the increasing velocity of the wind and the biting, stinging chips of ice it whipped up into their faces.

They had just managed to get the heavy wooden door closed when a huge gust of wind tried to snatch it out of their hands.

Inside, both men leaned heavily against the door, breathing hard, and then Hawke flicked on the beam of his flashlight and swept it slowly in a wide arc around the vault like interior to his right, illuminating large crates containing heavy lifting gear, welding gear and other heavy plant like machinery used in the maintenance of the buildings of Whiteout Station, several different colored gas cylinders, a sawhorse and a couple of industrial size battery operated drills for all manner of repair work, alongside two spare batteries and their re-charger, a reel of high tension steel cable and rows of shelves stocked with various kinds of oil and grease and lubricants, as well as bottles and canisters of cleaning materials and thousands of different sized nails and screws.

Maintenance man's heaven, Hawke found himself thinking sardonically.

Dominic Santini flicked on the beam of his flashlight too, and swung it away to the left, in the opposite direction to Hawke's, where almost immediately, it illuminated another face from deep within the gloom.

Dominic Santini let out a startled gasp, indicating to Hawke that something was amiss and at almost exactly the same time, Santini exclaimed; "String!"

Stringfellow Hawke quickly swung the beam of his flashlight around and aimed it in the same direction as Santini's, and with the sudden increase in light, the younger man found himself staring at another body, eyes growing wide with shock at the macabre sight before him.

The body was that of another male, aged somewhere in his mid to late thirties, Hawke estimated, sitting propped up lifelessly against a crate with a label stenciled onto the side announcing that it contained oxygen cylinders and various other underwater exploration and diving equipment.

The man's head was lolling to one side, chin resting on his chest, arms hanging limply down by his sides, looking for all the world like a scarecrow without enough stuffing.

Hawke moved the beam of his flashlight so that he could get a better look, slowly running it up and down the man's body, revealing that he had sustained a nasty head wound, the whole right side of his face and skull caved in, exposing bone and bloody brain matter.

"Ah damn …." Dominic Santini groaned miserably, as he slowly lowered the beam of his flashlight to the lower half of the man's body and settled on a bloody spade, abandoned where it had fallen beside the body, and it was pretty obvious to both Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini that the wound to the corpse's head could not have been self inflicted.

"This is crazy …." Santini breathed heavily, cold sweat breaking out on his brow as he sagged against the door once more and eyed the corpse with genuine sorrow, and then, slowly, he turned his head to regard Stringfellow Hawke with a look of utter horror on his grey face. "String …. Is this gonna happen to us?"

"No," Hawke hissed vehemently through his teeth. "No Dom," he assured the older man, reaching out to place his hand against Santini's forearm now, feeling bad that for one of the few times in his life he had told his old friend what he knew was a bare faced lie. "It won't come to that …."

"Sure, and I'm Nancy Reagan …." Santini scowled back. "Now, you listen to me, kid. If I start to go loco, if it looks like I'm losing it …." He paused to swallow convulsively then coughed briefly to clear his throat of phlegm.

"String, if I forget my manners …. If I try to hurt anyone …. You have got to get that girlie back there to give me something …. A shot or something …. Put me to sleep if you have to, but please, don't let this happen to me. Don't let me do this … To you …. Or her …. Promise me …."

Hawke raised his hand to lay it gently against Santini's shoulder now, looking him square in the eye.

"I already told you, it's not going to happen, Dom."

"String, promise me!" Santini roared then regretted it, for he was once again consumed by a harsh fit of coughing.

"Take it easy, Dom …." Hawke soothed. "Ok, I promise. Now you do the same for me, ok? I'm just as scared as you are right now, old friend …. And I know that there is every chance that we both might just go bonkers, as Leigh calls it, but …. I also know, here …." He placed the palm of his hand flat against the left side of his chest now, across his heart.

"I know in here, Dom, that you could not do anything to harm me, or Leigh …. Even if you went completely off your head. You just couldn't do it."

"I wish I had as much confidence as you do, String …." Santini spoke softly, but his expression was calmer now, his eyes indicating to the younger man that he appreciated his faith in him.

Dominic Santini knew that he would sooner kill himself than harm one hair on the younger man's head, but, if he wasn't completely in control of him self, Lord knew what he might be capable of ….

Or of what Hawke him self might be capable of under the same circumstances …. Dominic Santini found himself thinking miserably.

Who would have thought that any of these people, here at Whiteout Station, might be capable of such depravity ….

Of cold blooded murder ….

"Look Dom, with my temper, I'm the one who's most likely to lose it …." Hawke confessed raggedly now, voicing his deepest fear. "You know what I'm like sometimes. So, I want you to promise me that if I start to show any sign of getting …. Rowdy …. You'll sit on me …. Hog tie me if you have to, and then get Leigh to give me something to put me out …. Until …. The worst is over …. Dom? Please …."

"Ok," Santini agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "You just mind your manners, ya hear, then I won't have to!"

"Sure Dom. I'm trying, but sometimes …." Hawke smirked now, trying to mollify his old friend. "Besides, I already told you, it won't come to that. Leigh will find the answers …." He patted Santini's shoulder again now and gave the older man what he hoped was a confident and reassuring smile.

"How are you feeling?" Hawke kept his tone even now, but he knew that Santini would understand what it was that he was really asking him.

"Oh I feel just dandy!" Santini snarled sarcastically. "I feel like I'm in a damned sweat box, but my teeth are chattering so loud I can't hear myself think! I feel like every joint needs oiling! Can't you hear me creaking every time I move? I've got a damned woodpecker tapping away at the inside of my skull, I can't see worth a damn because my eyes are watering like they sprang a leak and I feel like a mule kicked me in the ribs …." He paused briefly to draw in a deep, ragged breath. "But I'm not ready to crack your head open with that spade, if that's what you're askin …."

"Good," Hawke's smile was a little more genuine now.

"How about you?"

"I've had better days, but I'm not fixing to take a swing at you, old man, so calm down and relax …"

"Hey, less of the old man!" Santini glowered. "Sonny …."

"Ok …." Hawke grinned good naturedly now. "C'mon, old friend, lets get out of here. I don't think there's anything that can help us in here, and I don't see any more bodies lying around …."

"Me neither. Thank God …." Santini gave an expressive groan as he raised his eyes heavenward, briefly.

"So how many does that leave?" Santini asked a moment later, lowering his gaze back to Hawke.

Stringfellow Hawke did a quick mental calculation and a sour look quickly crossed his face.

"Fourteen, Dom …."

"Ah crap …."

"Yeah, you can say that again …."

"Ah crap …."

When they had wrestled the heavy wooden door open once more, it was clear to both men that the weather had deteriorated, badly, and darkness now hung all around, oppressive and endless, closing in on them menacingly.

Hawke gazed out on the scene before him with a sense of impending doom, recalling what Leigh Roland had told them about the reason why the station had got its name, and warning them that they never wanted to be caught outside in a whiteout blizzard.

Maybe it was time to re-evaluate their situation, Hawke surmised silently as he watched the snow tumbling down, huge gusts of wind tossing the fat flakes around in the fading light.

Maybe they should just call it quits for now and try for the labs again tomorrow, when they had regained some of their strength?

But there was a flaw in that plan, and Hawke saw it almost immediately.

As soon as they stepped out into the blizzard, Dominic Santini began to cough again, and Hawke had to slip his arm around his broad shoulders to keep him from stumbling.

When the coughing fit was over, both men were covered in fresh snow, and as he looked at his young friend, Hawke could really see, for the first time, that Dominic Santini suddenly looked like a very old and very sick man, dark circles forming under his eyes and his breath coming in short, sharp, ragged little gasps.

Stringfellow Hawke suddenly came to a startling realization.

There was every chance that Dominic Santini would be too sick by tomorrow to repeat this little expedition.

Then, if that was the case, Hawke knew that he would be making the trip alone, because they still needed answers, and their best chance of getting them was still over there in the research labs.

Hawke didn't know how long he had before he too felt as bad as Dominic Santini looked right now, and that meant that he had to get to the labs and see what secrets were concealed within as soon as possible.

But for now, they were both dead on their feet, the weather had turned evil and night was drawing in quickly.

Stringfellow Hawke knew that there was every chance that if they didn't head back to the main accommodation block now, they would never make it back at all.

Hawke made his decision.

He and Dominic would return to the main accommodation block, and then at first light, Hawke would come back and investigate the research labs.

"C'mon Dom, we have to get you back inside …." Hawke spoke with a note of authority now, taking command, as he used his weight to support Santini, who tried to protest, but only ended up becoming more breathless, his legs suddenly buckling beneath him.

Hawke knew that his old friend was out of time, and stamina, and he wasn't fairing much better himself, if he were honest. They needed to get inside, where it was warm, and to where Leigh Roland could take a look at Dominic and maybe give him something to help with his breathing.

Staggering, slipping and sliding, both men slowly made their way back to the main accommodation block and as they stumbled over the threshold of the swing doors, back at the covered walkway at last, Dominic Santini's legs finally gave way beneath him, and he sank heavily to the ground.

Hawke tried to break his fall, easing him down on to the cold floor beside the hurricane lanterns that they had left there earlier, but when he tried to help Santini up into a sitting position, hoping to prop him up against the wall or one of the crates they had carried in and left just inside the door way, Hawke was shocked to find that the older man was unconscious.

Breathing hard, Hawke tried to hoist the older man up over his shoulder, intending to carry him to sickbay, but his strength had ebbed away in the cold, and he had nothing left.

Hawke was no quitter, so after pausing for a few minutes, dragging in long deep breaths of frigid air, he tried again, but again he lacked the necessary strength and both he and Santini went crashing to the floor, this time winding Hawke badly too.

It was no use.

When he had regained his breath once more, feeling helpless and wholly inadequate, Stringfellow Hawke tried to make Dominic Santini as comfortable as he could, dragging him far enough away from the doors so that he wasn't in a draught, then he set off, staggering from wall to wall, down the corridor, his destination, sickbay, and Leigh Roland.

/a\

"Hawke! Leigh Roland shrieked as with horror, she watched Stringfellow Hawke tumble to the ground.

She had taken a bathroom break and had then headed to the kitchen for a snack, feeling quite light headed before she realized that she had had nothing to eat, so she had made herself a cup of English tea with a splash of powdered milk that she had found in a cupboard, made up with bottled water, tired of coffee, feeling like she was drowning in the stuff, and nibbled on a few dry crackers while she waited for the water to boil, and had taken both into the Recreation room, making sure that it was warm and light and cozy, ready for when Hawke and Santini returned.

There she had found Dr Wilhelm De Wit's log book sitting on the table where she had left it and had scooped it up and put it under her arm as she carried her tea back to sickbay.

She had just emerged into the corridor heading back to sickbay to continue with her tests, distracted as she tried to piece together the little she had learned, vaguely aware that the wind had increased in velocity and volume and that it seemed darker than when she had set out, somehow, when she had suddenly heard a resounding crashing sound from a nearby corridor and had rushed to see what had caused it.

Now she watched with horror as Stringfellow Hawke collided with a steel wall and slid in a most undignified fashion to the floor, and dropping both her mug and the daily log book, she rushed down the corridor to where Hawke lay in a heap, panting raggedly, his face white, hands reaching up to claw at her as she knelt down beside him.

"S'truth …. Take it easy, Hawke …."

"Dom …" He panted. "Dom …." He persisted, grabbing at her sweater and pulling her closer, trying to speak whilst at the same time dragging in much needed air.

"What about Dominic?" Leigh asked, leaning in close to try to understand what he was saying.

"Collapsed …." Hawke tugged on her clothes, trying to pull himself up to his feet but only succeeded in pulling Leigh Roland off balance and she almost fell on top of him.

"Bloody hell! Where? Not outside Hawke? He isn't still out there ...." She demanded, staring into his unfocused blue eyes, and then let out a huge sigh of relief as he shook his head. "Ok, ok …. I understand …."

"Help me up …." Hawke choked out, at last able to prop himself up into a sitting position against the cold steel wall. "Need to get back …. Dom …."

"Give yourself a minute, Hawke …." Leigh placated, but Hawke was stubbornness personified and drawing up his knees into his chest now, he used his legs to try to lever himself up into a standing position, pushing back against the wall, and Leigh Roland automatically reached out to give him a helping hand.

However his legs were not yet strong enough to support him and Hawke slid back down with a load groan.

"Take your time …." Leigh laid a stilling hand against his shoulder now.

"No …. Dom …. Dom needs help …." Hawke pushed her hand away and tried once more to push himself to his feet.

"I know, Hawke, but you're exhausted. It won't help him if you go rushing back there and then you collapse too …." Leigh Roland reasoned.

However it was clear from the expression on his face, and the vague look in his eyes, that Stringfellow Hawke was not listening to her, as he continued to try to struggle to his feet.

_**That damned tunnel vision again!**_

_**S'truth, but he was stubborn!**_

"Dammit, will you listen to me! I can't carry both of you, you stupid gallah!" Leigh hissed at him, wanting to slap him across the face, to help him to snap out of it, but instead, reached out to capture his defiant, noble chin between the fingers of her right hand, forcing him to focus on her face now, as she rested her left hand against his chest, feeling it shudder and vibrate with every ragged breath.

"Listen to me, Cobber …. Running yourself into the ground won't help Dominic," she told him rationally, gazing back at him with steady amber eyes. "I know you're scared for him, and I know that you want to help him, but you have to take care of yourself first, so that _**we**_ can take care of him, _**together **_…. Understand?"

At last Hawke seemed to focus, her words penetrating the freezing fog that had clouded his mind, his one rational thought having been to get help for Dominic Santini, giving no thought to his own health.

Hawke found himself nodding in response to her words now.

He was exhausted, almost at the limit of his endurance, and he if didn't take a minute to get his breath back properly and compose himself, he would be in no condition to help Leigh Roland, which in turn, would mean that she could not help either him, or Dominic Santini.

In all likelihood, it would take both of them to carry Dominic to the recreation room, and Hawke knew that Leigh was right when she said that she could not carry both of them.

"Good. Now, I'll help you up …." Leigh offered, knowing that standing upright would allow him to breathe more deeply, giving his lungs the room they needed to expand properly in his chest cavity. "If you feel up to it …."

Finally on his feet, Hawke stood for a moment or two, leaning heavily against the wall, coughing violently and gasping for breath, fighting back nausea, his eyes wide and filled with anxiety as they drilled into Leigh Roland, whose keen physician's eye now took in his pallor, the way that his body was shaking with fatigue, the sparkle of fever in his baby blue eyes and the short, ragged, shallow breaths he was dragging in.

"He's bad …." Hawke managed to get out between breaths now. "Dom …. Out cold …. Couldn't carry him by myself …." He explained anxiously.

"Ok, I'll go and slip my coat on and come and help you. We can bring him back, together. Ok?" Leigh told him, already moving back down the corridor toward sickbay.

"Stay put, ok? I won't be long …." She turned back to give him a meaningful look, but could see that he really was in no condition to be going anywhere under his own steam quite yet, legs still shaking with fatigue.

She kicked the fragments of broken mug out of her way and stepped over the spilled contents as she bent to scoop up the daily log, then rushed to sickbay, dropping the ledger on to the counter beside the microscope, to read later, then slipped into her Parka coat, pausing only long enough to shake the thermos flask of coffee she had taken to sickbay earlier to see if there was any left. It seemed about half full so she tucked it under her arm and headed back to Stringfellow Hawke.

When she arrived it was to find Hawke once again sitting on the floor, knees drawn up into his chest, head bowed and forehead resting on his knees, but he was able to look up when he heard her approaching, and she could immediately see that he had got his breath back and that he seemed more aware now.

He still looked awful, and he didn't try to make an effort to rise to his feet as she approached him.

_**Poor baby. **_

He was worn out, frozen to the bone and frantic with worry for his old friend.

He needed food and sleep too, but Leigh Roland knew him well enough by now to recognize that there was no way that he was going to accept either until he was satisfied that Dominic Santini was safe and being taken care of.

"Here …."

She unscrewed the cap on the thermos flask and poured out the contents into the cup she had removed from the top, filling it a quarter full before holding it out to Hawke.

He regarded her scathingly, as she pushed the cup at him and was about to shove it away when she guided the cup around his hand and directly to his lips.

"Drink …." She told him in a stern voice. "Don't argue, Hawke. It will get some warmth into you," Leigh insisted, pressing the plastic cup to his compressed lips, trying to coax him to open his mouth, wishing that she had thought to bring along some sugar to put in the coffee, to help boost his energy levels.

"Just a sip, or two. Please. C'mon Hawke. You're frozen …. Just a sip, or two. It'll help you think straight …." She coaxed and to her relief, Stringfellow Hawke reached out with very shaky fingers and took the small plastic cup from her, raising it to his lips, the steam rising off the liquid in delicate swirling wisps, as it sloshed around inside.

Hawke inhaled the rich, roasted aroma before taking a small sip, and Leigh watched with satisfaction as his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed it down and then watched as he grimaced as the bitterness bit into his tongue and the back of his throat.

He took another reluctant sip of the coffee then surprised her by draining what was left in the cup and finally set it down on the floor beside him, arching his eye brow sardonically at Leigh Roland as she grinned at him.

Replacing the cap on the thermos flask, Leigh set it to one side and then hunkered down in front of Hawke and began to try to rub some warmth into the tops of his arms and legs, trying to get the blood circulating and the caffeine flowing through his veins to give him the rush of energy he needed to get him back on his feet.

Hawke made no protest, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to lean against the wall, drawing in deep, calming breaths as he silently endured her tender ministrations, until his body began to tingle with warmth and life once more and his mind finally cleared.

"Better?" Leigh asked in deep alto tones, kneeling before him now, taking one of his hands in her own now, rubbing it and squeezing it gently, massaging warmth and life back into it, and before he fully realized what he was doing, Stringfellow Hawke lifted the other hand and reaching out with it, cupped Leigh's elfin face and then slid his long, tan fingers around her neck, fingertips lightly brushing her earlobe as he very slowly guided Leigh's face toward his own.

The kiss, if indeed it could be called a kiss, the lightest of contact, their lips coming together for just a second, was the sweetest and most poignant that Stringfellow Hawke had ever experienced, making his heart leap, pounding erratically in his chest and setting his pulse racing, then suddenly, Leigh was pulling her lips from his mouth, only to press them softly against his cool, stubble roughened cheek as she slid her arms around his upper body and pulled him close in the most tender of embraces, her gentle, loving hands rubbing up and down his back, instilling more warmth into him

At last, letting out a ragged breath, Hawke gently put Leigh Roland away from him, gazing deeply and lovingly into her smoky amber eyes, seeing again the love that she still felt for him shining there, but now he knew that it was not the fierce fire of passion that he remembered from their youth, but a more gentle, compassionate kind of love.

The deep respect and affection of a genuinely caring friend.

"Leigh …." He whispered softly, but the words he wanted, needed, to express to her what he was feeling at that moment eluded him and he had to rely on the look he was giving her, and the love that he too felt for her, reflected back at her from his beautiful blue eyes, to express what was in his heart and mind at that moment

"I know …." She whispered back, leaning forward slightly to rest her forehead against his, emitting a shuddering breath as she closed her eyes.

"I'm so glad you're alive, Hawke …. And if you take anything away with you from this, I want it to be the certainty that I love you, have always loved you, and that despite how it ended, I never regretted a single moment …. Our sons might not have lived, Hawke, but for a short time, they were a beautiful part of my life …. Part of me …. Thank you for that …. I'm sorry you couldn't be there to share it with me …."

Tears suddenly slipped out from between her lashes and he felt her whole body quiver as she struggled to fight back a sob.

"I'm sorry too, Leigh. You shouldn't have had to face all of that alone …. I should have tried harder to find you …." He confessed raggedly. "I'm so sorry …."

"Hush now, love …. It's time to move on, time to forgive, if not forget …. None of it was our fault, Hawke …. You and I …. We were just innocent victims …. It was beyond our control …. It just happened …."

"I love you …." Hawke confessed, his voice catching in his throat now as he reached out to cup her cheek once more.

Stringfellow Hawke did not know if it was because he was feeling so weak and shaken and ineffectual, or if he sensed that it was possibly the last chance that he might have to show her his true feelings, as he drew her mouth down on to his own once more and kissed her with all the love and passion he felt in his heart, before breaking the kiss and pulling her close to him in a fierce hug.

He was so proud of her.

All these years she had suffered so much in the belief that he was dead, had bravely borne that grief and pain, had lived with the emptiness and heartache and loneliness, until finally, someone else had come along and won her heart.

Hawke knew that that was as it should be.

She should be happy.

She should know all the love that she so richly deserved, from a man who truly understood her and loved her all the same.

Hawke knew that he had nothing to offer her.

Except love.

But now it was too late.

He did not have the right to love her.

She loved Gregory Chandler. For better or worse.

Dead or alive, that would not change.

They had had their chance.

Their boat had sailed a long time ago, and had foundered, smashed against the rocks of misunderstanding and sunk by the overwhelming seas of misguided belief in trust and childish rejection.

They each had their own lives to live, and it was highly unlikely that somewhere in the future, they might be lucky enough to be presented with a second chance.

Too much water had gone under that bridge.

Hawke knew that he would always love her, that he would always be filled with awe and wonderment at how strong she was, and marvel at how courageously she had carried the burden of grief and heartache all these years.

She was an incredible woman.

Their time was over, but he would cherish her love, and welcome her friendship for the rest of his life.

He would always be there for her, in whatever way she wanted, and, if, as he suspected, it turned out that her husband, Greg Chandler was dead, Leigh was going to need all the love and support he could offer her ….

If they both came out of their present predicament alive.

Hawke held her close for another long minute, and then finally, reluctantly, he loosened his hold on her and allowed Leigh to gently pull away from him.

As they drew apart, Leigh Roland reached up and gently cupped Hawke's cheek once more, tears shining brightly in her eyes now, but she was smiling softly at him, her big amber eyes full of love and understanding.

"Oh yes …. I'd say you're feeling much better …." She grinned at him now. "Do you think you can stand?" Leigh asked, pulling away from him and rising carefully to her feet, offering Hawke both her hands now, which he gratefully accepted, along with the gentle tug that helped him to his feet now.

"Ready?"

"Ready …." Hawke confirmed.

"Nice and slow, ok?" Leigh told him, giving him a stern 'doctor knows best' look in the process.

"Ok," Hawke gave her a shy smile in return now, testing his legs by shifting his weight gingerly from foot to foot. His legs still felt a little wobbly, but now that he was feeling a little warmer, Hawke didn't think that they would let him down again.

Together, Stringfellow Hawke and Leigh Roland made their way back to Dominic Santini, who was still lying, unconscious, on the floor just inside the doorway to the covered walkway, where Hawke had left him, and working together, Leigh watching Hawke closely to make sure that he wasn't about to collapse too, they gently hauled the older man to his feet and taking his dead weight between them, half carried and half dragged him back to the recreation room, pausing several times along the way to rest and get their breath back, until at last they staggered through the swing fire doors into the welcoming light and warmth of the recreation room.

They finally got Dominic Santini to the mattress closest to the space heater, and Hawke assisted Leigh to get Santini's boots and Parka coat off before tucking him up in the sleeping bag and a couple of thick blankets, and then while Leigh hurried back to sickbay for her medical bag, Stringfellow Hawke finally collapsed into a chair close to the space heater and huddled up close to it, feeling the heat slowly seeping into his bones as he kept a watchful eye on Dominic Santini and tried not to nod off.

/a\

"String …." Leigh gently placed her hand on his shoulder and forcing his eyes open, Stringfellow Hawke realized that he had dozed off and was leaning dangerously close to the gas space heater.

"I'm ok …." He mumbled wearily through his teeth, but it was an effort to sit back in the hard back chair and turn his head to regard Leigh.

"You're not ok, Cobber …. You need to get out of those damp clothes, or you'll catch your death …." Leigh Roland sudden stopped, realizing what she had said, and suddenly they were smiling ruefully at each other.

"How's Dom?" Hawke asked, glancing back to where the older man was now neatly tucked up under sleeping bag and blankets, and noticed Leigh's medical bag and various bits of medical paraphernalia beside the mattress where Dominic Santini lay on his back, silent and still.

"How long was I out of it?" Hawke frowned at her now, a flash of anger in his blue eyes.

"About ten minutes …." Leigh reached out and patted his hand gently. "As to Dominic, he came too while I was examining him. I've made him as comfortable as I can, given him oxygen and something to help keep his lungs clear, a broad spectrum antibiotic and something to reduce his fever, but that's about as much as I can do for him at the moment. He's sleeping now," she gave him an apologetic look now then reached out to the table behind her and picked up an earthenware mug, passing it to Hawke, who wrinkled his nose.

"What the hell is that?" He grimaced as she thrust the mug toward him.

"Hot milk," she grinned. "I found some powdered milk in the back of a cupboard earlier and made that up with bottled water, to heat for cocoa later, but Dominic asked for a drink and I wanted to get some kind of nourishment into him, so I warmed the milk and added plenty of sugar …." Leigh explained as she turned around to pick up a second mug and took a sip from it.

"It's really not that bad, I promise ….Drink up, String. It'll help you get warm and bring up your energy levels …." She took another sip, hoping to encourage him to follow suit. "Then you need to put some dry clothes on, while I make us something decent to eat."

"I'm not hungry …. Leigh …."

Hawke's gaze drifted to the small window across the room, startled to realize that it was pitch black out there, and she knew immediately that he and Santini had found something outside, and that he wanted to tell her about it.

"That can wait, luv. Right now, we need to make you comfortable …. And I need to check you over too …. I'm sorry .…" She added in response to his sharp look. "And then, hungry or not, you need to get some food inside you, and about ten hours unbroken sleep …." She smiled wryly, unable to stop herself from wondering if either of them would actually be able to get a wink of sleep, with everything that had happened.

"Whatever it is you found out there …. It can wait until morning …."

Leigh watched Hawke's face now and felt a shudder run down her spine as she saw the shock and horror flash across his handsome features.

She drew in a deep breath and hunkered down before him, placing her hand carefully over the top of his hand, careful not to knock the mug of hot milk out of his other hand, hardly able to imagine what he and Dominic Santini had seen out there, but sensing that he needed to talk about it, a little.

"Is it bad?" She probed gently, and Hawke raised his eyes to look at her again, and Leigh was surprised by the depth of shock she could see in his blue eyes.

Here was a man who had been to war and seen the worst of atrocities and horrors that men could experience or inflict upon each other, but what he had seen outside had unsettled him much more than anything he had seen in Vietnam, or since.

"We didn't even get to the labs …." Hawke spoke absently, eyes never leaving her face, but his mind was elsewhere. "We found five bodies …. Four out there in the compound and one in warehouse one," he explained with a visible shudder. "One of them was a woman …." He told her with a note of incredulity and Leigh Roland felt her heart miss a beat in her chest.

"Madness …." Hawke spoke the word so softly that Leigh Roland had to lean in closer to him and strain to catch what he said, then drew away sharply as the meaning behind his words finally registered. "Violence …. My God, Leigh …. They appear to have gone on some kind of killing spree …."

"Easy …." She patted his hand gently, but could not deny the wave of fear that rolled over her. "Take your time, and tell me what you can," she encouraged.

"Two of them had gunshot wounds …. From the missing Colt 45 …. The woman had been shot in the head, and one of the men in the back …."

Hawke paused, unable to rid his mind of the horrific scene that he and Dominic Santini had revealed, the macabre tableau of death, his voice low and soft, his lips barely moving at all, speaking as though from a long way away, trying to restrain himself because he knew that these were her work colleagues, her friends, that he was speaking about.

"They appeared to have been shot by a man who had screw driver buried in his back, and the other man …. His neck looked as if it had been broken …." Hawke finished raggedly, his breath escaping in a long, audible hiss.

In the silence that followed, Leigh Roland hung her head briefly, to hide the tears gathering in her eyes once more, and when she looked back up at Hawke, she felt a moment of anxiety as she took in the vague, distant expression on his face.

"Leigh …." Hawke suddenly seemed to snap out of his trance and pinned her with steady, fierce blue eyes now. "If we start to show signs of madness, Dom and I want you to sedate us …." He told her in a steady, determined voice, making his wishes perfectly clear to her now, so that if or when the time came, she would have no doubts about what she had to do. "If you begin to suspect that it might be happening, Leigh …."

"If I think you, or Dom, or even I …. If any of us begin displaying symptoms of rage and paranoia …. Madness …. If that happens, and I feel that it is medically warranted, I might consider administering sedatives …." Leigh told him in a low, cool voice, leaving him in no doubt that it would take a great deal of provocation for her to go down that route.

"Leigh, you've got to!" He insisted, desperate to make her understand the carnage that he had witnessed out there in that bleached, ice wasteland.

"No, Hawke …." She gave his hand a hard squeeze now, aware of the real fear and panic in his eyes. Fear and panic that he might do something to hurt the people that he loved and cared about, that he would lose control, lose his mind, and lash out at those people, and she felt bad that she could not reassure him that it would not happen.

"No …." She told him adamantly now, big amber eyes ablaze with indignation at the thought that he was capable of hurting her, or Dominic Santini, sick or not.

"Leigh …."

"Look Hawke, if you're that worried, why don't you at least let me take your weapon? Yours, and Dominic's …. Let me put them in the Armory, in the safe with the tranquilizer darts?" She suggested softly, wanting to reassure him now. "You can have them back when this is all over …." She assured. "You have to know by now that we're in no danger from outside, Hawke …."

_**No, the danger came from within.**_

_**From each other.**_

Leigh Roland watched Hawke's face as he took in what she said, and weighed up all the pro's and cons, and then, suddenly, he was reaching around to the holster on his belt, opening it up and in the next instant, he had the weapon out, the chamber open and, grabbing her hand and pulling back her fingers gently as he guided it toward him, tipped the bullets out into her open palm, then he closed up the barrel, turned the weapon around and handed it to Leigh Roland, butt first.

At that moment, Leigh Roland experienced a moment of cold, stark terror, as she finally understood the reality of their situation, and that this man truly was afraid that he might succumb to madness, that he might lose control and perhaps kill someone that he loved.

"Thank you …." Leigh whispered raggedly, watching as Hawke secured his holster once more, then he rose from his seat, wobbled slightly, but then quickly regained his balance.

Leigh watched as he pulled out another weapon from his pocket, recognizing it instantly as the Colt 45 that was missing from the Armory, and he repeated the process or emptying the chamber and dropping four bullets into the palm of her hand, then walked across the room, gently peeled back the blankets from Dominic Santini's sleeping form and after carefully pulling back the sweater he still wore over the top of his Airwolf flight suit, retrieved the handgun from his holster too.

Unloading the weapon, on noticeably shaky legs, Hawke came back to stand before Leigh Roland and dropped the shells into her palm along with the others, and then handed her the third weapon, butt first.

"You want to come with me? See me lock them away?"

"No …. I trust you," Hawke breathed raggedly, then turned away and walked back across the room, where he sank down wearily onto the center mattress beside Dominic Santini.

Leigh Roland felt an ominous shiver run down the length of her spine as she cast her eyes down at the guns and ammunition in her hands, and the thought flashed through her mind that maybe she should go into the kitchen and gather together every sharp knife she could lay her hands on and lock them all away too ….

Then she got a hold of herself and told herself to get a grip, that she was being utterly ridiculous.

She could go through the damned whole station, tipping it upside down and locking away anything and everything that she could find that might conceivably be used as a weapon, but in the end, Leigh knew that it wouldn't really make any difference.

If they did all lose their minds, if something did overwhelm them, did drive them to kill, then somehow they would find a way to do it.

Even if it was with their bare hands ….

_**Sweet Jesus …. **_

_**Please, don't let it come to that ….**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Fourteen – Friday, February 24th 1984._**

**_Approximately 9am local time._**

"How is he?" Stringfellow Hawke asked as he came to stand behind Leigh Roland. She was kneeling beside Dominic Santini, tucking his blankets back in neatly after having sounded his chest and taken his temperature, pulse and blood pressure.

"_**He's**_ fine …." Dominic Santini answered for the doctor, in a gruff, reedy voice, but his fever bright grey eyes were fixed firmly on his young friend's concerned face. "In fact, _**he's**_ better than fine. _**He's**_ good …. And _**he's**_ coming with you …."

"No …." Leigh Roland reached out and stilled the older man with her hand as he tried to throw back the blankets and sit up. "You are staying put, and that is an order, Dominic …." She told him in her best professional doctor voice, as she watched the vexed expression on his face dissolve as he was overcome by a fit of coughing.

Dominic Santini was right, in part.

He was doing fine.

At least he seemed to be holding his own.

His temperature was up again, but not dangerously high, and that cough was getting worse, deeper, sounding now as if it was coming from lower down in his chest, where yesterday it had come from the back of his throat. His color was high, every movement was a great effort and he wheezed badly with every indrawn breath, like a pair of leaky bellows, but, all in all, he didn't appear to be much worse than last night.

Leigh Roland had come to the conclusion that 'flu like symptoms aside, part of the reason he had collapsed last night was due to shock and over exertion in the unfamiliar climate and rough terrain.

On the other hand, this morning, Stringfellow Hawke looked wretched.

The younger man had dark smudges of grey and purple under each eye, despite the fact that she knew that he had slept. His eyes were fever bright, his cheeks flushed, and he too was breathing more quickly than she would have liked, sucking in small, shallow breaths as though he was afraid to fill his lungs because it would make him cough, and if he started coughing then he might not stop.

His voice was low and gruff, he was actually doing a fairly good impression of Lee Marvin this morning, and although she kept the thought to herself, Leigh couldn't help thinking that it did make him sound rather sexy too.

He seemed distracted and emotionally flat, but he had fended off all her efforts to check his physical condition with the characteristic snarl and scowl, so that she could not compare it to the previous evening.

Leigh had just had to accept what she saw, and take his word for how he was feeling.

She hadn't found either reassuring.

In truth, Leigh was growing more and more concerned about Hawke's physical condition, for one, he didn't appear to have gained any benefit from the unbroken six hours sleep he had finally managed, once he had relaxed.

Outside Whiteout Station it had been another wild night, but inside, the occupants had passed the night away quietly.

After checking Hawke over, while he excused himself to use the bathroom, to change out of his damp clothes and splash some cold bottled water over his flushed face, Leigh had taken the weapons that Hawke had given to her and locked them away safely in the Armory, and then she had gone to the kitchen and heated mushroom soup and made fresh coffee and then they had sat at one of the laminated tables on the other side of the recreation room, so as not to disturb Dominic, in companionable silence, sipping and slurping their meager meal without much enjoyment.

While they ate, there was little conversation, both absorbed with their own thoughts, but after clearing away the remnants of the meal, washing the dishes and cutlery and tidying up in the kitchen, Hawke had suddenly grown talkative, explaining a little of what had happened to him since he had left the Army, about his brother still being missing in action, and about the work he shared with Dominic Santini, encouraging her to talk about her past too, about what she had done with her life after losing their babies, about her career and the places she had worked, the choices she had made, to keep moving and not return to her native Australia, about her relationship with her father, and finally, about Gregory Chandler, her husband.

Finally, returning to the recreation room to check on Dominic Santini once more, they had returned to the subject of the macabre discoveries that the two men had made outside the station, and although she could see that he was far from happy about it, Hawke had agreed that with Dominic laid up, there was no other choice than for Leigh to accompany him when he went to investigate the research labs.

It was the only sensible course of action.

He couldn't go alone. It would be too risky.

Leigh had assured him that Dominic Santini wasn't so sick that he required her to sit by his bedside constantly, that he could be left for a while, to rest and sleep, and she had reasoned that if she went with him in the morning, it would save them both another trip outside later.

They could work together, try to get as much information and evidence as they could, maybe try to use Airwolf's radio, if the weather cleared enough, and then hole up inside the station and ride this thing out.

Finally around ten o'clock, they had agreed on a plan of action for the morning, which was to go back and collect the sample that Leigh needed from the five bodies Hawke and Santini had found, identify them if she could, and then return to check on Dominic and get something hot to drink, before going back to make a start on the research labs.

Eventually they had run out of conversation, and by silent, mutual agreement, they had both retired to their mattresses, although sleep had been a long time in coming to either of them, both somber and miserable with the thoughts running riot in their minds, keeping sleep at bay until well into the night.

It had been a long night.

For the most part, Dominic Santini had slept, fitfully, intermittently coughing and snoring, loudly, and throughout the night Leigh Roland had risen from her mattress and had gone to check on him, administering more antibiotics and anti pyretic drugs as she felt necessary, and making observations on his chart.

When she hadn't been tending to Dominic Santini, and surreptitiously checking on Hawke too, Leigh had lain awake staring at the ceiling for a time, trying to get her thoughts in order, and when she realized that she was just going round and around in circles, in frustration, and needing something to occupy her mind, she had gone to sickbay and picked up Dr Wilhelm De Wit's log book, bringing it back to the recreation room where it was warm and light and cozy.

She had read it through again, but, in the end, weariness had won the day, and she too had finally slept, waking at around her usual time, of 6am, to the sound of Dominic Santini's heavy breathing and rhythmical snoring.

Noting that Hawke too was still sleeping, silent and peaceful, his flushed face more relaxed in repose, she had risen quietly and made a quick trip back to the room that she had shared with Greg, where she had hastily changed her clothes, glad to be rid of the cable knit sweater, which was only making her rash more itchy, and then she had gone to the kitchen to make coffee and to hunt through the cupboards for something to make for breakfast, but the choice was limited.

They were almost out of crackers now, and she had eaten the last stale cookie yesterday. There was no bread for toast, and she could find no breakfast cereal in any of the cupboards, recalling that hardly any of her colleagues had been inclined to eat much at breakfast time, most just snatching a piece of toast or a croissant with their coffee before rushing off headlong into the new day.

Taking down several cans of different types of fruit from the cupboard, not knowing what the others might like, Leigh had loaded a tray with the cans, can opener, cutlery and dishes, coffee mugs, sugar and the coffee pot, and then returned to the recreation room, to find Stringfellow Hawke wide awake and sitting on the edge of his mattress now, rubbing his hand roughly over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes and yawning softly.

They had eaten fruit and sipped coffee in silence for a while, but, then, inevitably, Hawke had tried to talk her out of joining him outside this morning.

Leigh had listened patiently to everything that he had to say, and then quietly and rationally dismissed every one of his reasons out of hand.

She knew what he was doing, and why he was doing it, and was genuinely touched.

She appreciated his concern for her health, his anxiety about being responsible for her safety out there, and about trying to spare her the horrors to come, but, the long and the short of it was, they didn't have any other choice.

Either they both went, together, or they didn't go at all.

It was as simple as that.

It had to be done.

Leigh was ready.

She felt that she was strong enough to deal with whatever they discovered.

She knew that it wasn't going to be easy, but it would bearable, just, with Hawke there to support her, looking out for her, and vice versa.

"How are you feeling?" Hawke had asked her with genuine concern after a lengthy and uncomfortable silence, watching as she absently raised her right hand to massage an itchy spot in the middle of her left shoulder blade and had smiled in spite of himself.

"I'm ok …." She had smiled back, suddenly conscious that she was indeed scratching again.

It was the truth.

She actually felt pretty good, Leigh had thought to herself silently, aside from the constant itching.

Changing clothes had helped a lot.

Glad to be out of the cream cable knit sweater, she had pulled on a thin black T-shirt then a thick black Cashmere sweater over the top of that, and she had swapped the denim jeans for a pair of heavy black corduroy pants. She had pulled on two pairs of extra thick socks and dug out her thickest thermal gloves from the back of a drawer.

She felt better than she had in a while.

For the first time in days, she didn't have a headache, and she didn't feel quite so flushed. Her throat wasn't quite so sore either, and instead of nausea, she had actually felt hungry this morning.

"Yeah, I'm good. How about you?" He had pulled a sour face and shrugged his shoulders, but had categorically refused her attempts to get a more constructive answer as to his health ever since.

It didn't matter.

Leigh Roland could guess how he was feeling, finding herself hoping that it was better than he looked.

"Are you just gonna stand there and let this girl order me around?" Santini blustered now, between fractured breaths, glaring at Stringfellow Hawke as he tried, unsuccessfully to get out of bed once more.

"Of course not, Dom," Hawke assured, his voice a deep rasping growl in the back of his throat, as he placed a gentling hand on Leigh Roland's shoulder, as she too turned swiftly to glare at him now, giving her a brief, meaningful look, which softened when she took his point and backed off.

"You take your orders from me, as always," Hawke gave a soft sigh. "And _**I**_ am telling you, you are staying right there, old friend …." Hawke did not raise his voice, but there was no denying the note of authority in it.

"Ah, String …." Santini protested.

"No, Dom. If you don't _**like**_ my orders, well, that's fine. That's your choice. But if you can't _**follow**_ my orders …." Hawke deliberately paused, allowing his old friend to take in what he was saying and digest it. "Then I guess that means that the Lady and I fly alone in future …."

Dominic Santini gave his young friend a hard, penetrating glower, but subsided back against the mattress and pulled the covers right up under his chin, a belligerent look on his face now, and both men knew that he had well and truly gotten the point.

"Hey, Dom …. I know which one of us has the better deal here. Now finish your breakfast, and do as you're told," Hawke growled again, then turned his attention to Leigh Roland. "I guess if we really are going to do this, we'd better make a move."

"I'm right behind you," Leigh smiled confidently at him. "Get some sleep, Dominic," she reached out and patted the grumpy older man's shoulder soothingly, but the look he threw back at her told her that he was feeling anything but sleepy.

"At least try to get some rest …." She advised, then turned on her heel and walked across the recreation room, scooping up her Parka coat and shrugging into it swiftly.

Hawke was already standing by the swing fire doors, also wearing his Parka coat over a clean marine blue sweater and fresh blue jeans, and he had picked up the white plastic container Leigh had retrieved from sickbay, containing the things she would need to take samples to examine later, and had his flashlight under his arm as he held the door open for her.

Leigh gave Hawke a gentle, reassuring smile in answer to his questioning look as she joined him, and then with a last wave goodbye to a still disgruntled Dominic Santini, who was grimacing at a dish of peaches as if they were sawdust and ashes, and poking at them warily with his spoon, they set off, making their way to the covered walkway that lead to the other block of Nissan huts.

As they prepared to step outside, Stringfellow Hawke noticed Leigh Roland drawing in a deep, calming breath, squaring back her shoulders and thrusting out her chin in defiance, obviously bracing herself for the ordeal to come, and again Hawke felt a rush of pride and respect, as well as a flicker of trepidation.

Outside, it was light, but the weather was far from clement. There was another heavy bank of low, snow laden cloud hanging damply over everything, and the wind was howling like a banshee, whistling through the gaps in the walls and the door frames and tickling the rivets in the domed metal roof.

Slowly and cautiously, Hawke and Roland set off, picking their way through piles of fresh snow and patches of sheet ice that sparkled like glass as they headed back to the area where Hawke and Santini had found the group of bodies the previous day.

Stringfellow Hawke quickly spotted the first marker, a wooden spade handle sticking, up out of the snow.

Lowering himself cautiously to the hard, frozen ground, Hawke set about carefully and gently, in deference to the fact that he was aware that whomever this person had been in life, he or she had been a friend to Leigh Roland, brushing the fresh, frozen snow away to reveal, as he had half expected from the location of the marker, the face of the woman who had been shot between the eyes.

Leigh Roland slowly squatted down beside Hawke and watched him work, bracing herself for the moment when he revealed the face, but she could not stop herself from letting out a little gasp of horror as she recognized the face gazing lifelessly back at her.

"It's Dottie …."

Her voice was barely audible, snatched away by a vicious, cutting, gust of wind, as she turned to face Hawke, unable to hide the tears welling up in her eyes, which she blinked away quickly and knuckled from her cheek with a gloved hand.

"Dottie O'Brien," she added, raising her voice over the roar of the wind, drawing in a deep breath, gently elbowing Hawke out her way so she could take a closer look at the head wound.

Hawke waited patiently as Leigh did a thorough visual examination of the deceased woman, much as he had seen her do when they had discovered Sven Sorenson beside the crashed plane, then he held the white plastic container steady for her as she retrieved the items she needed and then placed the resulting samples safely inside and closed it up securely once more.

Leigh indicated to Hawke when she was done and he lifted up the container before moving to the next marker, to begin the process all over again.

The second body was that of the man with the screw driver in his back and who had had the gun in his hand, and after brushing away the snow to reveal his face, Leigh Roland quickly identified him as Dr Wilhelm De Wit.

Working in silence, Leigh repeated the process of examination and taking blood and tissue samples from the man, then indicated to Hawke that she was ready to move on to the next body.

This was the fellow who had been shot in the back, and Leigh quickly identified him as Lars Nilsen, and then, finally, they reached the man with the broken neck. His neatly trimmed black beard made him instantly recognizable to Leigh Roland and she identified him as Ronald Potter.

With her examination over and all the samples safely locked away in the white container, Leigh Roland gave Hawke a look that indicated that she was ready to move on, and a smile that thanked him for his patience and support.

Grateful for a sudden lull in the wind, retracing his steps of yesterday, Hawke trudged back to warehouse number one, the only sound in the now still Arctic morning, his labored, fractured breathing as he moved, laboriously lifting one leg in front of the other, battling to stay up right in the soft new snow, and keep his feet on treacherous patches of ice, Leigh Roland in his wake.

At warehouse number one, Hawke took advantage of the shelter to get his breath while Leigh immediately identified the man sitting beside the crate as Konrad Schneider, then he watched as Leigh worked slowly and meticulously to examine the corpse and take the samples that she needed, carefully labeling the vials and placing them inside the white box along side the others.

"Ok …. I guess that's about it …." She sighed heavily as she rose to her feet, reaching out for the box.

However, she stilled as she watched Hawke breathing hard and looking very sickly, but when he realized that she was scrutinizing him, he gave her an impatient look and turned around to wrestle the door open once more.

"Hawke …." She came up beside him and gently caught his elbow. "Give yourself a minute …." She advised softly.

"I'm fine …." Hawke hissed roughly.

"I'm pleased to hear it," but the twinkle in her eyes told him that she knew that he was trying his best to hide the truth from her.

"We should go back and check on Dominic …. Get some hot coffee inside us, chase the chill away …."

"Personally, I could use a stiff bloody drink …." Leigh gave him a wry half smile, dragging in a deep breath to replenish her aching lungs.

It was hard work, moving around in the extra layers of clothes in the heavy new snow and she was a little breathless herself after maneuvering Konrad Schneider's corpse to thoroughly check it over, and in truth, she was only half kidding about needing something alcoholic to fortify her spirits and stiffen her nerves.

It was getting close to the moment of truth ….

Her knees were shaking and her heart was racing in her breast at the prospect of setting foot inside the research labs, some sixth sense warning her that whatever they might find inside would not be pleasant, and would probably prove personally devastating ….

She was trying not to dwell on that, but it was difficult not to let her mind drift.

Now, seeing that Hawke was more recovered, Leigh realized that she could not put it off much longer.

"A brandy or two wouldn't go amiss …." Hawke relaxed his face muscles now, hardly a smile, but it took the austere edge off his expression. "Purely for medicinal purposes ...."

"Never a St Bernard around when you need one ...." Leigh chuckled softly.

"When we get out of this hole, I'll buy you a whole saloon full of your favorite poison …."Hawke offered gallantly.

"You're on, Cobber …. Just remember, I am Australian," she found herself grinning back at him now, grateful for his attempts to lighten the mood a little. "They put a cold tinny in our hand when we're mere babes …."

Suddenly Stringfellow Hawke found himself recalling the way she had out drunk him, on several occasions when they had brought back cans of beer to the beach cottage, along with the groceries, and he had found himself both astonished, and humiliated to have been drunk under the table by a mere slip of a girl.

That was something else that he had never told anyone about, far too embarrassed, but he could see from the amused twinkle in Leigh's teddy bear amber eyes that she remembered too.

Hawke knew that she was about to embark on the most difficult task of her life, and, he knew that it must be a terrifying prospect for her, but, instead of withdrawing into herself, instead of cowering away, here she was, trying to bolster him and jolly him along, and he again found himself thinking how brave and strong she was.

"But you're right. We should go and look in on Dominic …." She conceded softly now.

"Leigh …."

"Your turn to make the coffee, I think, while I put these samples away safely in sickbay and check on Dominic."

She regarded him now with unwavering amber eyes, silently asking him not to dwell on things that were long past, and things that could not be changed, acknowledging that he still had feelings for her, blessing him for his confidence in her and his support, but silently reminding him that at that moment, she had other things on her mind.

"You do still remember how to make coffee …."

"Cheek!" Hawke growled, but now there was a gentle smile on his lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I had a good teacher …. Remember?"


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Five_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Fourteen – Friday, February 24th 1984._**

**_Approximately 11.30am local time._**

"Here, put this on …."

After checking on Dominic Santini, whom had been dozing when they returned to the recreation room, finding him pretty much as they had left him, but despite his bluster and grumpiness, the older man had not been able to hide his relief that they had survived the first stage of their morning's work, and slowly sipping on Hawke's good, strong hot coffee, wrapping their stiff, frozen fingers around fat earthenware mugs, feeling welcoming warmth seeping through their bodies, inside and out, although neither drank a full cup, not wanting to risk making themselves ill later, Stringfellow Hawke and Leigh Roland had made their way back to the covered walkway, the empty white sample box in Hawke's hand, ready for the next stage of their investigation.

Hawke had noticed a change in Leigh Roland almost immediately.

She had grown quiet, thoughtful and reserved.

Pensive.

Hawke had left her alone with her thoughts, knowing that she was preparing herself, mentally and physically, for what was to come.

They had reached the doors to the covered walkway and the hurricane lanterns and boxes of supplies that Hawke and Santini had left there the previous day, when Leigh had reached out to still Hawke, indicating that he set the sample box down on the ground for a moment. She had opened it up and produced two sets of latex gloves which he had taken from her and pulled on without hesitation, and two rigid white surgical face masks, one of which she was now dangling in front of his face off the end of her index finger.

"Don't argue, Hawke. Just do it ….." Leigh insisted, irked by his look of irritation, pushing back the slightly damp hood of her Parka coat, revealing her new, short and spiky hairdo, and slipped the stretchy strings of her own mask around each of her ears, pulling it down gently to dangle just below her jaw, much to Hawke's amusement.

"Bit late for that, don't you think?" He drawled, smiling wryly now.

"Actually, it's not germs I'm worried about," Leigh told him in all seriousness now. "Look, Hawke, I'm no forensic scientist or investigator, but I know enough to be concerned about entering an environment in which there was a fire recently," she told him patiently.

"We go inside, and immediately we disturb things. We move around, we move the air too, and we start to kick up all kinds of dust and debris, ash and soot …. Now, you wouldn't want to be breathing that in, would you?"

There was just a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but Hawke knew that she was being serious, and a shudder ran down the length of his spine as he realized what other things he might also be breathing in that Leigh had been too tactful to voice.

Human ashes.

Hawke's face dropped and he nodded solemnly.

He had gotten the picture and he took the mask from Leigh's finger and throwing back the hood of his own coat, a little awkwardly, slipped the mask over his face.

"Thank you."

The reward for Hawke's unquestioning co-operation was a softening of her expression, just a little now.

"Now listen up. I want you to tell me immediately, if you feel in the slightest bit dizzy, light headed, nauseous, find it difficult to breathe …."

"In what way is that any different to how I feel at the moment?" Hawke quipped, arching an eyebrow sardonically whilst fighting back the urge to cough once more.

"I'm serious Hawke!" Leigh countered, a familiar flare of temper in her deep amber eyes. "If you feel in the slightest bit weird or off color or generally unwell, you have to tell me, straight away," she fixed him with a defiant, fiery glare.

"We don't know what we might find inside, Hawke …." She drew in a calming breath and reigned in her temper now.

"There could be pockets of any number of toxic, noxious gases in there, given off by burning furniture, plastics, and the chemicals they kept in some of the labs …." She pointed out sensibly, and in more reasonable tones.

"I know the place has been well ventilated …."

Hawke knew that she was referring to the wooden window frames with their Perspex inserts and some of the external door frames which they had seen had been melted and burned away, when Hawke had circled the burned out shell in Airwolf that first morning.

"We don't need breathing apparatus, good thing too, because we wouldn't want to be lugging around oxygen cylinders. They would slow us down, and we need to be able to move around freely, but, we do need to be aware. We can't take any chances either, ok?" Leigh reasoned and now Hawke could hear the real anxiety in her voice.

"One whiff of something like that could kill you in seconds, so, if you feel queer in any way at all, you grab me and we get the hell out of there. All I am saying, Hawke, is that we need to keep our wits about us, and take reasonable precautions."

Stringfellow Hawke nodded again in understanding, sobered by her words. Not that he hadn't been taking it seriously to begin with.

He knew what they were about to face just as well as she did.

Again he felt a wave of pride in her wash over him.

She had obviously thought about this a great deal, about how they needed to approach it to ensure their safety once they were inside, and what they might encounter in the burned out ruins of the labs.

"Tread carefully, and just try not to disturb anything too much," she advised in a soft voice, reaching out to gently adjust the surgical mask over his nose and mouth, and she could tell from the crinkling around his eyes that he was smiling softly at her now.

"You got it," Hawke concurred, knowing that it was indeed good advice.

It was simple common sense, for he suspected that they were about to enter a very unstable environment, and that they would need to be aware of the possibility of falling debris as well as tripping over wreckage left behind by the inferno.

"And, no wandering off on your own …." She warned, wagging her finger in front of his eyes now, reminding Hawke of his words to her on the day that they had arrived. "We do this one room at a time, slowly and methodically, and we stay close to each other."

"Gotchya."

"C'mon then, mate …." Leigh tugged gently on his elbow now, her gaze drifting to the door and the bleak, whitewashed world beyond. "No time like the present …."

Leigh closed up the sample box and secured it with the heavy lock, then picked it up and watched as Hawke bent to pick up one of the hurricane lanterns.

Leigh had her hands full with the sample box and flashlight, so that, and the one hurricane lantern would have to suffice for now, unless they found something that required deeper investigation.

Straightening up carefully, Hawke reached out and held the swing fire door open for Leigh, and they stepped outside once more.

The walkway had a corrugated plastic roof, but other than that was completely open to the elements, so as she stepped further out on to the slippery, icy wooden boards, Leigh Roland was almost knocked off her feet by the increased ferocity and velocity of the wind.

Stringfellow Hawke automatically reached out to steady her, and when she had recovered her footing, Leigh nodded her readiness to continue, breathing hard, sucking in deep breaths around the surgical face mask, and allowed Hawke to pass by, taking the lead.

On the other side of the covered walkway, Hawke reached out and carefully opened the scorched fire door and was immediately grateful for the mask covering his nose and mouth for it helped to muffle the awful smell of smoke and the underlying hint of something like burned meat.

It gave him the same initial sense of nausea and revulsion when, as a vegetarian, he was confronted with the aroma of barbecued steak or burgers or any kind of meat roasting over an open fire at a beach cookout, or when Dom invited himself to dinner and slapped a thick, juicy steak in a skillet.

Stringfellow Hawke felt his throat close and his stomach roll as he realized the implications behind that awful acrid stench, and knew with unshakeable certainty that people had indeed perished within the confines of the labs.

Or, he found himself hoping fervently, perhaps they had already been dead, and had been spared that final terror ….

Leigh threw Hawke a curious and concerned look, tilting her head slightly to one side, birdlike, which he interpreted as her requesting his readiness to proceed, and he nodded gently, winking his left eye reassuringly, although, entering the labs was suddenly the very last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but there was no way that he was going to let Leigh face this alone.

When Leigh Roland did not immediately move, Hawke again nodded that he was ok, knowing that it was pointless to try to speak while they were still outside, the wind snatching away their voices, and she nodded in return then after slipping the slender flashlight under her chin, she reached out to take the heavy door for him, holding it open, taking the weight of it with one hand and one snow booted foot, so that he could enter first.

As he crossed the threshold, Hawke automatically held up his hurricane lantern to illuminate the way ahead, and once she was inside and had let go of the door, Leigh took her flashlight out from under her chin and swung the beam around the gloomy interior.

They found themselves in another small vestibule area, which then opened up beyond another set of heavy swing fire doors into a long corridor, not unlike 'Broadway', in the main accommodation block, and off that the labs were sub divided.

Leigh followed Hawke deeper inside, his hurricane lantern focusing its light on the darker areas where the narrow beam of her flashlight did not reach, and both were greeted by the sight of scorched and smoke blackened walls and ceilings.

Hawke knew that Leigh had been right about them disturbing things, as he spotted tiny particles of dust or ash or soot, or something even more distasteful that he did not even want to think about, scattering around them, swirling and floating, dancing energetically in the beams of their lights.

The vestibule was empty, serving no real purpose except as another buffer between the labs and the outside elements, but Leigh made sure that she checked it thoroughly with her flashlight before nodding to Hawke to indicate that they should move on.

The air was thick and heavy, and Hawke could feel it clogging up the back of his throat, as he again took the lead, approaching the next set of smoke blackened fire doors and holding them open to allow Leigh to pass through, before walking on ahead down the empty, echoing corridor.

They stopped outside the first door on the left.

It was blackened by smoke, swirling patterns at top and bottom of the solid wooden door frame where the smoke had obviously built up and curled around the lintel, the previously pristine white paint work peeled and blistered by the heat.

Hawke reached out and tried the handle, half expecting to find that it was still red hot, but it was cold, and the door remained stubbornly closed. He shoved it a little harder and the handle clicked, the lock popping open, but again the door stubbornly refused to move.

Scowling, Hawke set down the hurricane lantern on the floor, and placing his shoulder against the door, braced himself against it, pushing with all his might, and this time the door gave, moving slightly inward, so he tried again.

This time he could feel the door move a little further, but now he suspected that there was something blocking it on the other side, as he pushed with all his might, breathless and grunting with the exertion, and then Leigh was suddenly beside him, leaning all her weight against the door too, shoving with all her might, until finally they had moved it open enough for Hawke to squeeze his head and shoulders around.

Taking Leigh's flashlight, Hawke shone the narrow beam in front of him to try to find out what the obstruction was.

He saw the obstacle immediately and realized that someone had placed a heavy upturned desk right across the door way, like a barricade.

Hawke pushed the door open a little wider, wedging himself in the doorway to give him self more leverage, and then he was finally able to squeeze himself through the gap and immediately tried to push the heavy desk away from the door to allow Leigh room to enter the small space beyond.

Hawke found himself in another small lobby, with two doors leading off it, one to his immediate right, the other slightly further in front of him to the left.

Working together, Hawke and Leigh Roland moved the heavy desk away from the door, and once they had recovered their breath, Hawke returned to the corridor for his hurricane lantern, and Leigh's sample box, and he immediately realized that whilst the outside of the door, facing the corridor, was scorched and smoke blackened, the inside, facing the lobby that lead to the two labs had no sign of fire or smoke damage, except very slightly, wisps of smoke having slipped through the gaps around the inside of the frame, although the stench of smoke still hung heavily in the air.

Leigh was shining her flashlight around the lobby, illuminating the door to the lab on the left, which was also undamaged and standing slightly ajar. This, Hawke recalled, was the lab that had been assigned to the metallurgical team, lead by Tyler Keegan.

Hawke also knew that that meant that the lab to their right was the one that had been assigned to Dr Gregory Chandler and his team of geologists and was where he would have stored his samples, analyzed his data and completed his reports.

Hawke was not surprised that Leigh Roland had chosen to head toward the other door first.

Inside the metallurgical lab and office, everything looked pretty much as Leigh remembered it from the odd occasion she had needed to visit Tyler and his colleagues, or they had invited Greg and her self in for coffee and a chat.

The layout was a mirror image of Greg's lab, with most of the work stations running from the left of the door way, along the interior wall, the full length of the room, with large pieces of equipment for testing their samples in the middle of the room.

The exterior wall on the far side of the room had once had windows running intermittently along the whole length of it, but now there were only gaping holes surrounded by melted Perspex and charred bits of wooden window frame, allowing in frigid air and turbulent blasts of wind along with the odd flake of snow from outside.

Aside from the windows, and a build up of new snow on the furniture and equipment on that side of the room, Leigh was surprised to find the room untouched, no sign of the fire having reached inside the room, although around the window frames, she could make out the tell tale marks of smoke darkening certain areas of the ceiling.

Cautiously she moved deeper inside, careful to avoid tripping over chairs and bumping into desks and equipment, swinging the beam of her flashlight around slowly before her, Hawke following closely behind holding up the hurricane lantern to try to illuminate deeper into the corners, yet, despite this, it was Leigh who made the first grisly discovery, the body of a man, almost tripping over his prone form, feet sticking out from beneath a work bench about half way down the room.

Leigh let out a startled little yelp of surprise, but Hawke's sure hand was quickly reaching out to steady her, saving her from a heavy fall, her feet tangled up with those of the dead man, but she quickly regained her balance, and as he watched her trying to recover herself, Hawke could see the shock and recognition in her amber eyes, as she ran the beam of her flashlight up and down the length of the corpse lying prone under the work bench at her feet.

_**And so it begins …. **_

Hawke found himself thinking sourly, knowing that it was going to be a very long and very trying day if there were thirteen other corpses, like this one, just waiting to be discovered, and he found himself greatly admiring the people who did this kind of work day in and day out, for a living.

He could not help wondering which poor soul this one was ….

Leigh had warned him not to jump to conclusions, that if they did find bodies in any of the labs, he should not automatically assume that that person actually belonged in that location.

After all, people could have been running around, out of their minds, on the rampage, and those who were not suffering the madness would have been terrified for their lives, grateful to seek sanctuary anywhere they could, a hiding place any where they felt safe away from the others.

Leigh had told him that if they did find bodies, any that were burned beyond recognition might still be identified by items of clothing or jewelry, and that that was how she suspected she was going to have to try to identify most of the remains they did find in the labs.

Regaining her wits, Leigh squatted down beside the body, careful to avoid hitting her head on the work bench as she inched her head and shoulders underneath it, and setting down the flashlight reached out to try to turn the man's face toward her, as Hawke took a small step closer and raised the hurricane lantern to throw more light over the body for her.

"It's Lenny …." She spoke in a deep, low voice, breathing hard through the mask, still shocked and winded from the exertion of simply moving around in the thick atmosphere.

Leigh had been certain that she knew who this man was before she had seen his face.

The shiny, pink bald head had been a dead give away.

There was only one bald headed man at Whiteout and that was Leonard Skinner.

Lenny had suffered from Alopecia since his late teens and had taken to shaving his head completely. That hairless, shiny pink pate, which when he went outside he usually covered with a thick black woolen beanie hat that looked like a tea cozy, made him recognizable anywhere, and had earned him the nickname 'Cue Ball'.

"Leonard Skinner ….." Leigh confirmed on a ragged breath, gently easing the man's head back down onto the floor.

Leigh moved carefully in the cramped space beneath the work bench, running the beam of her flashlight up and down Skinner's body, looking for any obvious sign of injury or violence, a hint as to how he had died, but as with Shane Preston she could see nothing that immediately jumped out at her.

She inched herself out, carefully, backwards, then rose slowly to her feet and cast the beam of her flashlight over the work station, noting the scattered tools and bits of paper, some having fallen to the floor around the body, and she surmised that Leonard Skinner had probably just keeled over and knocked the things to the floor as he fell.

"I can't see anything obvious …. Like Shane …. The only way to know for sure is to do a post mortem …." She told Hawke on a ragged breath, reaching out for the sample box and opening it up.

While Leigh worked, examining Skinner's body and taking the samples she needed, Hawke took out his own flashlight and swung the beam around the remainder of the lab, after all, Leonard Skinner might not have been alone when he died, or someone else might have entered the lab after he was dead to take refuge themselves.

Someone had barricaded themselves in, in fear of their lives, but was that Skinner, or someone else?

There were thirteen people still unaccounted for ….

While Leigh was concentrating on her work, Hawke decided to go and take a look at the other lab.

He had a terrible feeling of dread about entering that room, fearing that inside Leigh would finally discover her husband's fate.

If Gregory Chandler was dead, and lying inside the lab, Hawke wanted to know, to be prepared, so that he could at least warn Leigh before she went in there, but as he turned around and moved away from her, Leigh Roland caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" She demanded sharply, rising to her feet now, and lifting the locked sample box once more. "I'm done here …." She told him, suddenly noting the heavy frown on his brow and realizing what was going through his mind.

"I told you, we stay together, Hawke. I know you want to try to protect me, to cushion the blow," she drew in a deep, ragged breath. "And I appreciate the gesture, but, it has to be done …."

"I know that, Leigh …. I …." Hawke stammered in a rough, deep voice.

"He's dead, Hawke. In my heart of hearts, I know Greg is dead …."

Leigh's voice suddenly cracked and she lowered her face, briefly, and then she lifted her eyes to his and he could see the grief, and something more shining there.

Determination.

Resolve.

"I think I've known it all along, Hawke," she confessed softly now. "But I didn't want to believe it …. Until we found the others, there was still some hope …. No matter how small …. But now …."

She paused to drag in another breath.

"I know what you're doing, Hawke, and I love you for it …." Something in her eyes softened now. "But I have to face the truth …."

She paused to drag in a another slow, shaky breath.

"I'm not saying that we will find Greg. Maybe I am still clinging to that small hope. But, if we do …. I know it will be hard …. But, please try to understand. He's my husband, and I need to know. I need to see …. I need to find out what happened. He doesn't have any one else, Hawke, another of life's orphans, just like you and me. So …."

Hawke understood what she was telling him.

She owed it to her husband to learn everything that she could about what had happened here at Whiteout Station and how he and all the others had lost their lives.

Hawke suddenly had another startling thought ….

Was she feeling guilty?

Did she think that if she had been here, she might have been able to do something to prevent this tragedy?

To save these people?

Was she feeling guilty because she was alive, and everyone else associated with Whiteout was probably dead?

It was irrational, but as a caring, compassionate and sensitive human being, it was just the sort of thing that Leigh would think.

Didn't she realize that if she had been here …. She would probably be dead by now too?

Hawke suspected that once this thing had taken hold, there was nothing that could have stopped it ….

And he felt his heart lurch in his chest as he realized that he and Dominic Santini, and now Leigh herself, were in exactly the same position.

Was their Fate already sealed too?

Hawke knew that there was nothing that he could say, or do, that would assuage that guilt, no matter how pointless and futile it was.

He had felt that way himself for a very long time ….

Since St John had gone missing.

Always questioning why he had been spared and his brother lost ….

And getting no reasonable or reassuring answers in return.

Hawke also knew that Leigh wanted to understand what had happened here, she wanted to get at the facts so that she could put it into some kind of perspective.

She, just like all the other relatives of these people, wanted and needed answers, and she was the only one left who could tell those relatives the truth, with genuine understanding and sympathy, answer all their questions honestly and with compassion.

"I have to do this …."

"Ok …." Hawke spoke on a soft whisper of breath.

"Good. I'm glad you agree, because if you get in my way, Hawke, I'll knock you on you arse. Understand?"

And now there was a hint of steel in her voice, and Hawke knew that she was being deadly serious, and right now, with the way he was feeling, he suspected that she probably could put him down on his ass too.

This was important to her.

Not only was it the last thing that she could do for her husband, but it could ultimately make the difference between life and death.

His, Dominic's and her own.

It was also important for her peace of mind.

When this was all over and done with, she would be able to look back and know that she had done everything that she could. There would be no regrets or recriminations, and that would make it a little easier for her to live with, and move on from.

She didn't want there to be any uncertainty about what had happened to Gregory Chandler, and Hawke could not blame her for that.

She needed to see it with her own eyes.

And she would deal with the resulting memories and the nightmares when the time came.

"We still have a lot of work to do …." Leigh came up to stand beside him, looking up at him with concern in her eyes now. "How are you doing there, mate?"

"I'm fine …." He assured stiffly, not wanting to add to her woes by telling her how truly awful he did feel.

"Liar," she raised an eyebrow sardonically at him now. "Now tell me the truth."

"I'm good, really …." He brushed off her concerns brusquely now.

"You're as bad as Dominic …." She chastised, looking deep into his face now, noting the flush high on his cheeks above the surgical mask, his rapid, unsteady breathing and the glittering of his eyes, but she did not think that he looked any worse than when they had set out.

"You tell me if you start to feel worse, ok?"

"Ok …." Hawke gave a deep sigh of exasperation now.

"I mean it …."

"I know you do, and I guess if I don't want to end up with a bruised backside, I better do as I'm told …."

"You'd better believe it …. C'mon, luv …. We need to keep moving …."

Despite what Leigh had told him, Stringfellow Hawke had a deep, ingrained sense of chivalry, and unable to help himself, he took the lead as they exited the metallurgical lab and crossed the small lobby to Gregory Chandler's geology lab.

The door was closed, but offered no resistance as Hawke reached out and twisted the door knob.

Almost immediately he pushed the door open, Hawke felt the oddest sensation rush through him, a strong sense of foreboding, and then, his sharp ears homed in on the strangest sound, an eerie creaking noise coming from close by.

Frowning, Hawke took two steps forward, and was in the process of bringing the hurricane lantern up toward his shoulder to illuminate the gloomy interior ahead, when suddenly he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, as he found himself confronted with the sight of a pair of brown fur trimmed snow boots, swinging and spinning like a pendulum back and forth, round and around.

Leigh Roland gave an ear splitting scream from close behind him, as at the same time, Hawke realized that the boots were still attached to a pair of human legs, long and slender legs encased in faded denim jeans, which belonged to a man who was suspended by a length of thick, strong rope, by his neck, from the light fitting in the centre of the ceiling overhead.

Startled and compelled to rush to the man's aid, despite the fact that he must surely be long dead, Hawke almost went flying over an upturned chair just in front of him, and only just managed to save himself from sprawling flat on his face.

Hawke stumbled, off balance and tripping over his own feet, and automatically reaching out to save himself from a heavy fall, as he tumbled forwards, found his hands coming into contact with something soft but solid, and suddenly Stringfellow Hawke found himself looking at the dented, blood soaked head and shoulders of another man and recoiled in shock, darting backward out of the way, breathing hard, as Leigh Roland continued to scream.

Gathering his wits, Hawke picked himself up off the floor and careful not to trip once more, headed back to Leigh Roland, who immediately stopped screaming and hurled herself at him. Burying her face in his shoulder, dragging in long, ragged breaths, and shocked and breathless too, Hawke's arms automatically came up around her and gathered her close.

"I'm sorry …." He whispered softly, pressing his lips in to the hair on the top of her head, his strong tan fingers gently stroking the short and spiky blonde hair in the nape of her neck, whispering the platitude over and over, assuming the worst.

That one of these two men was Gregory Chandler.

"I'm sorry …."

"No …." Leigh finally choked out as she dragged herself away from him, dashing away her tears as she stepped away from him and waved her flashlight at the hanging corpse, swinging and twisting in the strong draught coming in through the broken windows, and took a tentative step closer.

"No …. It's not Greg …." She mumbled, staring transfixed at the face of a dusky skinned young man with black hair and smooth, flawless, pleasant, open Asian features.

"This is Ravi …. Ravi Patel …." She gasped out now. "Oh God …. Help me get him down …. Please …. We can't leave him like that …. Please, Hawke …." Leigh implored.

"Ok …. Ok …."

Hawke held up the hurricane lantern and waved it around in a wide arc before him, illuminating desks and computers and pieces of equipment until he found what he was looking for on a work bench.

A lethal looking utility knife.

He picked it up carefully and then with Leigh's help picked up the broken, over turned chair and set it carefully under the hanging man's gently swinging feet, then after testing it carefully to make sure that it would take his weight, while Leigh held Ravi Patel's legs still, gripping them firmly around the ankles, and bracing herself to take his full weight, Hawke climbed up on the chair and quickly sawed through the thick strands of twisted hemp around Patel's neck and then Hawke quickly took as much of the man's weight as he could as he and Leigh Roland carefully lowered him to the ground.

"Leigh …."

Hawke tried to stop her as she moved away from Ravi Patel toward the other body, struck by how pale and shaken she seemed and wanting Leigh to stop for a moment, to give herself a chance to recover from the shock and the exertion, but she ignored his protests and deliberately pulled away from his reach, going to kneel down beside the second man, who was sprawled out, face down, the back of his cranium dented and misshapen and his medium brown hair matted together with blood and there were splinters of wood embedded deep into his scalp.

Obviously someone had used the chair to cave his head in, Leigh surmised silently.

Probably Ravi ….

_**Oh God ….**_

_**Poor Ravi …. **_

And then, perhaps overcome by guilt and shame, he had used the chair to hang himself from the light fitting ….

"This is Stephen Norton …" Leigh identified the man, using all her strength to roll the man over toward her, letting out a startled little gasp as she found herself looking into his open, deep green eyes and his blue, rigid features. "Oh God …."

Leigh withdrew, scuttling backward away from the body of Stephen Norton, amber eyes wide, tears streaming down her face, cheeks puffing in and out beneath the surgical face mask, with every rapid breath.

"Oh God …." She could not take her eyes off Stephen Norton, but despite the fact that she was badly shocked, there was no denying the hint of surprise, and relief in her voice and in her eyes.

"It's ok, Leigh …."

Hawke came up beside her, carefully dropping to his knees, taking her cold hands in his own gently.

"He's not here …." Leigh whimpered, a vague, wide eyed expression on her white face, and Hawke squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Stringfellow Hawke knew now that despite what she had told him about not jumping to conclusions about the identity of any people they might find, because of the location they found them in, Leigh had been expecting to find her husband here, in his lab.

When she hadn't found him in their room, it was obviously the most logical place for him to be, and Leigh had evidently braced herself for the traumatic discovery.

Not to find him here had thrown her.

Really thrown her.

"Easy, honey …." Hawke soothed, knowing how disappointed and frustrated she must be feeling.

Undoubtedly, she had been hoping to get the worst over and done with early on, so that she could put it behind her and move on, examining the other remains objectively and without the underlying fear and dread of what lay waiting for her behind every door, but now she still had it to face.

"Give yourself a minute," Hawke advised gently, moving to take up the space beside her, easing himself down into a sitting position, still holding her hand in his.

"He's not here …." Leigh repeated absently.

"I know …. I'm sorry ….."

"I thought …."

"I know …."

Hawke released Leigh's hand now and instead slid his arm around her shoulder, drawing her in close to him and gave her a quick squeeze.

"We'll find him, Leigh …." He assured, knowing that for Leigh Roland there could be no worse outcome to all of this than not discovering her husband's body, and being able to piece together what had happened to him.

The uncertainty would be more than she could bear.

Leigh had already borne enough heartache over his own alleged death, Hawke knew, believing him to be dead for almost twelve years, only to find that he had been alive all along.

She could not go through that again.

Leigh needed to know that she was not going to find herself in a similar position ten years from now, when the husband she believed long dead, unexpectedly walked back into her life.

As awful as it sounded, Leigh needed to find Gregory Chandler's body, so that she could then go through the ritual of saying goodbye, a funeral, a grave, a place to go to remember and grieve.

This time she needed closure.

Suddenly, Leigh was confronted with the possibility that she might not find his body at all.

"We'll find him …. Or at least find out what happened to him, Leigh. I promise," Hawke swallowed down hard on the lump that was suddenly stuck in the back of his very sore throat and winced in the process, knowing even as he said the words that he was giving her false hope for there was every chance that they would never discover what had happened to her husband …

That they too might die here before they got a real chance.

Hawke pulled Leigh in tight against him and gazed down into her big, sad, teddy bear amber eyes and again gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Leigh responded by reaching out to wrap her arm around his waist and gave him a fierce hug of gratitude in return.

"I'm ok now …." Leigh assured in a deep, groggy voice as she drew away from him at last and threw him a weak smile.

"Just give yourself a minute to get your breath back …."

"I'm ok. Best get on …."

"Leigh …."

"Hawke, I can't quit now. I have to keep going, no matter how tough it gets …." She told him in a small, sorrowful voice, but her eyes never wavered from his face. "So help me to do what has to be done, please …. I can go to pieces when this is all over and done with, but not yet …. And I need you to help me stay strong …. I need to you to help me stay focused …. Keep me honest …. Ok?"

"Ok," Hawke agreed with a hearty sigh.

"Good, now be a gentleman and help me up …. I can't feel my bum …."

She threw him a rueful half smile and Hawke found him self smiling back at her as he rose somewhat stiffly to his feet and offered her his hand.

Composed once more, but still noticeably shaken, Leigh did what was required, working slowly and methodically, silent and thoughtful, as Hawke held up the light for her, and then they were ready to move on.

Retracing their steps, Hawke again taking the lead, they carefully made their way back to the small lobby between the labs and then back to the main corridor, where Leigh shone her flashlight on the next door, further down the corridor to their right.

This lab, Hawke recalled from the building plan, belonged to the meteorologists, Eunice Anderson and Dottie O'Brien.

He and Leigh again found themselves standing before a smoke blackened door but this time the door opened easily, and they stepped straight into the double laboratory that had been home to the two ladies who studied weather patterns and climate changes, and which housed several large pieces of equipment and several deflated weather balloons, and shelves lined with printers and recording equipment, and counters with various blank screens and monitors, as well as two very distinctive work areas.

Almost immediately they stepped inside, swinging around their lights, Leigh and Hawke were confronted by utter chaos, over turned furniture, smashed equipment, the windows broken and allowing in the tumultuous wind from outside which was tossing around bits of paper, snowflakes, and rolling pens and pencils along the floor, prodding them like some invisible ghostly finger.

The place looked like it had been hit by a tornado, but there was little sign of any fire damage in the lab, just patterns of smoke, black curls and swirls around the ceiling above the burned out window frames.

Hawke found him self curious about why the fire did not seem to have reached further inside the labs, here and the other two they had already examined, and wondered if it had something to do with the metal construction of the Nissan huts, giving the fire little in the way of fuel before it got to the highly combustible stuff inside.

Upon first sight, it appeared to him that this fire certainly hadn't burned as fiercely as Leigh had first suspected, and if that was the case, Hawke found himself beginning to suspect that they might indeed find more intact remains.

The thought had barely run through his mind when he heard Leigh's sharp intake of breath and turned around to see what she had discovered.

He had been shining the hurricane lantern to his right, his back to her, and as soon as he moved, Hawke saw the reason for Leigh's surprised reaction.

The narrow beam of Leigh's flashlight had settled in the gloom further down the room, on something in the far back corner, and as he turned the hurricane lantern and aimed it in the same direction, Hawke realized that it was another body.

It was immediately recognizable as the body of woman, head bent, long grey hair twisted into an intricate braid hanging limply over one shoulder, not as long as Leigh's braid had been, coming to a stop just before her ample bosom, and she was dressed in a pretty emerald green sweater over a calf length black corduroy skirt and the ubiquitous fur trimmed black snow boots on her feet.

"Eunice …." Leigh whispered as she moved slowly forward toward where the woman sat, propped up in the corner, head lolling forward on to her chest, booted legs straight out in front of her and arms hanging limply down by her sides. Just beyond the reach of her fingers, where it had obviously fallen from her grasp when she had lost consciousness, was an empty pill bottle.

"Sleeping pills …."

Leigh gave a deep, regretful sigh as she held up the small brown bottle and read the label, recognizing the name of the drug and noting from the date that the prescription, written by Eunice Anderson's personal physician back home in San Diego, had only been filled the previous month, while Leigh had been away from the station.

Leigh presumed that Eunice had gotten someone from back home to call her doctor and asked for a refill and the prescription had been forwarded to Gnome, where the staff there had gotten it dispensed at their regular pharmacy and sent it up to the station on the next supply run.

"Damn …. It would have been an almost full bottle …." Leigh's tone was regretful, indicating to Hawke that in her mind there was no chance that it could have been an accidental overdose.

Stringfellow Hawke watched as Leigh Roland gently lifted the woman's head and tilted it back to rest against the wall, to stop it falling back onto her chest while she did a quick examination of the body, and he found himself looking in to the dead woman's peaceful, relaxed face.

She was younger than he had first thought, the long grey hair making him think that she must be approaching her sixties, but instead, he found himself looking in to the sharp, narrow features of a woman in her late forties, possibly early fifties, and he began to ponder on what could have been so dreadful that it could have made this woman chose this way to end her life.

"There's a note …." Leigh told him with a hint of surprise. "I found it under her other hand …." After scanning it quickly, Leigh handed Hawke a flimsy piece of narrow lined paper covered in what he assumed was Eunice Anderson's neat script and he read it in silence.

The note was brief, and to the point, indicating that she feared that she was losing her mind, along with everyone else she had come to love and trust here at Whiteout, and she could not bear the thought of succumbing to the paranoia and madness that gripped her colleagues. She explained that she was already experiencing intense feelings of anger and strong urges to give into fits of destructive violence, and she feared that she would lose control, and the dignity she prided herself in, and kill someone, and so she had decided to end it before that happened, and concluded by reminding them that she loved them all very much, and asked for forgiveness from her family.

Hawke read the note over again and then slipped it carefully into the pocket of his Parka coat, again silently pondering on what had possessed these people, what could have induced them to kill each other ….

To kill themselves ….

How desperate they must all have been ….

How terrified ….

And how much longer it would be before he and Dominic Santini began to experience the same symptoms.

Before their nightmare became his and Dominic's nightmare too.

Pushing those unsettling thoughts from his mind, Hawke again watched as Leigh took the samples she needed after concluding her examination of Eunice Anderson's body and while she put the things away in the sample box, Hawke swung his lantern around, surveying the rest of the lab.

The ladies had shared the lab, and although its construct was similar to the sub divided lab across the corridor, theirs had no dividing interior wall, allowing them a more open plan space in which to work.

Their desks indicated their very different personalities and interests, the family photos on Eunice Anderson's paper cluttered desk, the older woman surrounded by her children and grandchildren, although no sign of a man in any of the pictures, and he fleetingly wondered if she was widowed, or if she had been divorced, and the pictures of cute and endangered animals, and a poster of seal pups put out by the World Wildlife Fund, on the walls around Dottie O'Brien's work station.

Sitting on Dottie's desk, abandoned where she had left it, next to a pencil sharpener in the shape of a penguin, was an artists sketch pad left open at a page with a near complete pencil drawing, a pretty good representation of Whiteout Station and the surrounding terrain, and lying on the floor, where it had fallen from the top of her computer was a stuffed Polar bear.

Stringfellow Hawke recalled that Leigh had told him that Dottie O'Brien had been a pretty good water color artist. He knew a little about good art, and looking at the sketch, he could see that the woman had had a good eye for detail and a talent for capturing a scene.

Leigh Roland came up quietly to stand beside Hawke and placed her hand gently on his shoulder, only guessing at his thoughts at that moment, his face concealed by the surgical mask.

"Where next?" Hawke asked on a heavy breath, gratefully turning away from Dottie O'Brien's desk, torn by the sight of the mundane little knick knacks that had brightened up the woman's day and genuinely saddened by the loss of such a talented artist.

"Shane's lab," Leigh spoke in low tones and Hawke nodded to indicate that he was ready to proceed. "Don't expect to find much, but we'd better take a look …."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

_**Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle.**_

_**Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska.**_

_**Day Fourteen – Friday, February 24th 1984.**_

_**Approximately 1.30pm local time.**_

"Leigh?" Stringfellow Hawke paused, leaning forward to draw in a ragged breath, aware that Leigh Roland had also stopped moving, and he regarded her curiously as she shone her flashlight around the corridor.

They had now moved on down the narrow main corridor, after briefly investigating Dr Shane Preston's research lab.

After what they had already discovered in the metallurgists, geologists and meteorologist's labs, the microbiologists' lab was something of a surprise.

For a start, it was completely gutted by fire, and this had puzzled Stringfellow Hawke, for there was no outward sign of anything unusual, just the same slightly smoke blackened door leading off the main thoroughfare, but inside, the room had been engulfed by an inferno, completely destroying everything and leaving behind only a charred, blackened mess.

Hawke had immediately noticed the dismay on Leigh Roland's face; after all, she had spent a good part of her time here at Whiteout working in this lab with Shane Preston, and had some happy memories.

Nothing was salvageable, even the few personal knick knacks Leigh had cluttered her own desk with, including the small wooden frames which had once held personal photographs.

As Hawke surveyed the wreckage, he found it odd that the fire seemed to have been contained within the lab. The smoke patterns on the ceiling and around the windows were different, and he could see from the fingers of black and grey soot on the walls that the flames had been at their most intense in the centre of the room, and found himself wondering if there had been an explosion, or a flashover which had caused the fire to spread outward toward the sides of the room and the windows.

Hawke also thought that he could smell something like gasoline and Leigh had agreed that she could smell it too, faintly.

He could tell from the puzzled expression on her face, the frown tugging at her brow, that Leigh was trying to work out what had happened here too, and by the time they had had a good look around he could see that she had mixed feelings about this lab, relieved in a way not to have found any more bodies, but disappointed too.

"What do you think happened?" He had asked her in a low, gravel voice.

"I think someone went out of their way to make sure that nothing survived this fire," Leigh had sighed, softly and then cleared her throat as she realized how thick and rough it sounded in the echoing metal box that had once been her workplace.

"Shane was the first to get sick," she had reminded him, coughing to clear her throat once more, and this time Hawke had regarded her with anxiety in his eyes, remembering her earlier warning.

The air was very heavy and thick with the acrid stench of smoke and burned wood and paper and his own throat felt constricted and raw.

Concerned about the possibility of there being noxious fumes still lingering in the air, Hawke had decided that they needed to get out of there, back out to the corridor where the air was a little fresher.

He had gently taken Leigh Roland by the elbow, and she had offered little protest or resistance, as he guided her back out the way that they had come, back to the main thoroughfare, where they had both stood, silent, for several minutes, breathing slowly and gathering their thoughts.

"Maybe someone thought that Shane got sick from something in one of his samples and decided that if they burned the lab they would destroy whatever it was that was making him sick too. Perhaps they were trying to contain it …." She had speculated, and Hawke had had to admit that it sounded plausible.

They had then moved on to investigate the small kitchen area and bathroom facilities and in stark contrast, the only sign of fire damage in the kitchen was again the melted Perspex and charred window frames.

Leigh had investigated the ladies room, while Hawke had excused himself and stepped into the Men's room to have a quick look around and use the facilities.

Now, they were moving slowly down the main thoroughfare toward the far end of the research lab and the last module of Nissan huts. Here, Hawke knew, they would find Sven Sorenson's biology lab and the marine biology lab where Inga Bergstrom, Frank Coleman, and Lars Nilsen had been based.

They were almost at the end of the corridor when Hawke had paused to get his breath back, trying not to let her see the discomfort he was in from the sharp pains shooting across his back and chest with every inhalation, realizing that something was bothering Leigh, as she swung the beam of her flashlight around in a slow, wide arc.

"Leigh …."

"I've been trying to work out what happened …." She panted a little raggedly as she walked slowly back to come and stand beside him now, amber eyes raking over his grey face and fever bright eyes, taking in the shallow, irregular breathing and the way he was bowed forward slightly, trying to draw in deeper breaths without making himself cough.

She could see immediately that he wasn't looking good, but tried to convince herself that much of it was caused by shock and fatigue.

They were certainly contributing factors, but Leigh knew that they weren't the main reason why he looked so sickly.

He was in pain too. She could see it in the fine lines around his eyes, but she also knew that he would deny it if she asked him out right.

Hawke needed to get back to the warmth of the recreation room, get something hot and nourishing inside him, as well as Aspirin and the same broad spectrum antibiotic she had given Dominic Santini, but Leigh was also acutely aware that they still had work to do, and that stubborn dolt that he was, there was no way that he would simply walk away and leave her to finish this on her own.

Despite her concern for his health, Leigh was glad. She found his presence comforting and reassuring.

Defiance and bravado were all well and good, and had gotten her to this point, but Leigh knew that she was fast running out of both.

She wasn't feeling ill, but she was tired and cold, confused and more than a little shocked by what they had discovered so far, her brain sluggish and her body numb, and so she was trying to take her mind of the overwhelming horror of it all by trying to work out logically what might have happened here.

There was no denying that she would be relieved to walk away from this place, and never have to set foot inside it again, after all, she wasn't a masochist, but she too was stubborn, determined to see it through to the bitter end, torn between acknowledging her body's physical limitations and the knowledge that she would not rest if she thought that she had overlooked something.

Leigh was also very much aware that they only had one shot at this.

It was quite possible that Stringfellow Hawke would soon be too sick to assist her, and she wasn't stupid enough to try to do anything on her own.

They had to get this thing done, and done now.

In that case, Leigh decided, they had better speed things up a little.

"Look …." She raised the beam of her flashlight to the ceiling over head and Hawke raised his eyes to see what she thought was so interesting.

Hawke had noticed for himself that there were subtle differences between this end of the corridor and where they had started from.

They were obviously getting closer to where the fire had been at its fiercest, more evidence of damage caused by flames than simply by smoke, small bubbles erupting in the metal walls where the heat had caused it melt, briefly, like tiny burst blisters, and the air was thicker too.

Hawke had also noticed the change in the strength of the smell.

He could not quite identify everything, but it was unpleasant to say the least, clinging to the back of his throat and burning his lungs with every inhalation.

As he looked up now Hawke could see the swirling and curling pattern of smoke, and the odd darker patch where the flames had lapped and licked and run the ceiling.

He followed the direction of Leigh's waving flashlight beam and realized that the pattern looked as if it were moving away from them, back down the corridor, like a wave on a beach, leaving an imprint in the sand, running out of steam about half way down the corridor behind them.

"Something happened to stop the fire from spreading further down the corridor …." Leigh voiced the thoughts running through Hawke's mind now. "Something caused it to run out momentum …." She turned to regard him now, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she chewed on it thoughtfully.

"My guess is, the fire started in one of the labs at the end of the corridor here, used up all it's fuel really quickly, and then something happened to stop it from getting any further …. All the windows are broken, the Perspex melted, but most of the damage done inside is from smoke …."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. I can't work it out, after all, this place is just a big metal box, even if the main structure didn't burn, there's enough combustible material in here to have kept the fire going until it ran out of fuel, or air …." Hawke pondered aloud.

"I guess we both know this wasn't an accident," Leigh sighed wearily now, dropping her head briefly before raising it to regard him once more.

"This is arson. Someone deliberately set this fire, Hawke, so …. We have to find the point of origin, find out what they used to start the fire, then that might give us some answers …."

"You're thinking there was some kind of explosion," Hawke's eyes narrowed as he regarded her over the top of his surgical face mask now.

He had been thinking the same thing.

The fire had burned with ferocity up to this point, which meant that it had burned hot and fast, then something had happened to its energy levels and it had stalled, or died before reaching the other end of the corridor.

"That would be my guess," Leigh concurred in a soft voice. "And I think I've figured out why the fire burned out. Look at this …."

She took a few steps back down the corridor and lifted the beam of her flashlight to the ceiling over head once more, and Hawke squinted, trying to work out what it was that she had seen.

The domed ceiling was blackened and scorched and there was a large, oily looking smear pattern but he couldn't make anything of it, the cold and the thick air making his mind slow and he shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

"The wind changed direction," Leigh said simply. "When the fire started, the wind must have been blowing from that end of the corridor …." She waved her flashlight beam ahead of them in the direction of the biology and marine biology labs, following the line of the ceiling with the flashlight beam, and Hawke could see immediately the darker patches of soot and smoke running the ceiling and then a big swirl that ended almost half way down the corridor, like it doubled back on its self.

"See?"

"Maybe …." Hawke frowned, cursing his fever addled brain.

"Maybe when the fire started they were in the middle of a storm, and whoever did this needed to get it done quickly. They probably thought that the wind would fan the flames and do their job for them, that there would be nothing left, but what they couldn't count on was the storm blowing its self out, or the wind changing direction," she paused to take a small breath, an earnest expression in her eyes as she continued to piece things together in her mind.

"I think the flames were blown this way, but then the wind changed and somehow, the flames got sucked back up the corridor, and that is why there is more damage back there. Maybe a flash over, or a back draft …. I'm not an expert, but I've known a few fire fighters over the years, and they have told me that fire is like a living, breathing thing, Hawke …. It's unpredictable and will do anything to survive …."

Hawke looked back up and down the corridor, eyes running the length of the ceiling and taking in the different kinds of damage and smoke patterns and realized that Leigh was on to something.

He didn't know much about fire either, but as theories went, it was certainly plausible.

The fire had been started deliberately. There was no doubt in his mind about that now.

He recalled that when they had first arrived, and he had flown over the block of Nissan huts that made up the research labs, the worst of the damage and most of the smoke had come from the end of the block they were now heading toward, the framework of the building buckled and twisted from the heat, and, possibly, the force of an explosion, and if there was one thing Stringfellow Hawke knew a lot about it was incendiary weapons and things that went kaboom.

They tended to create a lot of heat and energy and then died just as quickly.

If there had been some kind of explosion here, then that would explain a lot of things.

Hawke suddenly realized that it also pointed to the possibility of there being other hands than those of the scientists at Whiteout Station involved in this, and the thought sent a chill down his spine.

"Hawke?" Leigh frowned at him now and he realized that she must be able to see something of what he was thinking in his eyes and his expression and he drew in a slow, ragged breath as he tried to school his features into a more neutral expression.

"It works for me …." He spoke at last, concurring with her theory and Leigh's eyes softened a little as she smiled at him from behind her face mask.

"You ready for this?" He asked her gently now, knowing that they had come to the point of no return in this little misadventure, and that the moment of truth was upon them.

They had searched everywhere else and there had been no sign of Gregory Chandler. Leigh had to know that there was every chance that they would find him, or at least something of his remains in either of the two labs ahead of them.

"I'm ok," Leigh assured. "What about you? You don't look so hot …."

"Gee thanks," Hawke scowled back at her, knowing that she was very astute and had hit the nail squarely on the head.

He didn't feel so hot.

His legs were like rubber, his face was burning, his chest was tight, the pain making it hard to breathe in and when he did his lungs felt as if they were filling with water.

The smell was making him nauseous too.

Hawke knew that all of this must be evident to Leigh Roland's keen physician's eyes, and he was grateful that she hadn't made something more of it.

"Great bedside manner you got there, doc …." He mumbled and this time he could see the slight crinkling around Leigh's eyes and knew that she was grinning back at him under her surgical face mask. "I'm ok, Leigh. Now let's get this done …. We've been out here too long as it is …." He reminded her gently now.

"Sure," Leigh agreed.

Hawke again took the lead, walking slowly down the corridor.

A few feet before they reached the end, Hawke noticed a change in the atmosphere, more cold air moving around him, and he tentatively reached out and opened the door to the lab on his right, and eased it open carefully.

Raising the hurricane lantern, Hawke cautiously took a step forward, sensing Leigh Roland close behind him, and saw immediately that part of the ceiling had buckled and come away from the wall and the light weight metal was flapping precariously in the wind.

There was a marked difference in the temperature inside the lab, and Hawke shivered as he took another tentative step inside, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as Leigh Roland stepped up behind him and waved the beam of her flashlight around.

This had once been Sven Sorenson's domain, along with his colleagues, Bjorn Christiansen, Torben Eriksen and Jan Poulsen, but as with Shane Preston's lab, the interior was gutted by fire.

Hawke immediately felt the need to raise his hand to his mouth as he gagged on the foul air swirling around him, a mixture of burned wood, paper, and melted plastic, and something acrid and over powering, like burned meat, a noxious cocktail that made him retch and cough.

"Oh God …."

Hawke heard Leigh gasp as she too tried not to heave, the beam of her flashlight settling on the thick sole of a black boot sticking out from beneath a pile of burned debris, the remains of what had once been a work bench, charred and splintered.

Moving carefully and cautiously around the wreckage, Hawke followed the beam of Leigh's flashlight, Leigh following close behind him, her balled fist raised to her mouth as she gagged and coughed, eyes darting frantically around as she tried not to slip or trip on the debris littering their path.

Slowly and with obvious reluctance, Hawke began to move away pieces of burned wood, Leigh squatting down beside him, carefully removing other clutter from around the boot until finally they revealed a leg, encased in thick black denim jeans.

Hawke had to pause to catch his breath, trying not to heave at the hideous sight as Leigh gently removed a piece of shelving which had toppled over, landing squarely across the column of a man's white throat, the only part of him that wasn't scorched and blackened and charred, protected by the laminated wood.

"Oh hell …." Leigh choked out, gazing in horror down at the burned and blistered face of Jan Poulsen, his nose and mouth having melted together, his once lustrous yellow blond locks almost completely burned away, leaving just a few wisps here and there, clothing melted to what was left of the skin on his forearms and ribcage by the fierce heat of the fire ….

Hawke silently echoed her sentiment.

Indeed, it must have seemed to this man as though he had sunk into the very depths of hell its self as the fire raged around him, and again Hawke found himself praying that the man had either been unconscious, or dead, before the flames reached him.

"It's Jan Poulsen …." Leigh identified the man for Hawke now and shining the flashlight on his chunky left wrist, illuminated the shattered dial of a very expensive looking wristwatch.

She leaned carefully forward, recognizing the expensive time piece. She had admired it once, and Jan had proudly told her that it had been a graduation present from his ailing grandfather, and recalled that the watch was the kind that also displayed the date as well as the time, and let out a startled little gasp when she read the dial.

"What is it?" Hawke demanded, squatting down beside her.

"His watch …. It stopped at 5 o'clock on the 21st …. That was Tuesday …. Bloody hell, Hawke …. That was the day before we arrived …."

"I know," Hawke sighed raggedly and reached out to lay a soothing hand on her forearm.

It made sense to Hawke, as he recalled the amount of smoke still rising into the early morning air on the day that they had arrived.

"But that doesn't mean that he was still alive …. That was when his watch stopped. This guy was probably dead long before then …." Hawke reasoned, again finding him self hoping that that was indeed the case.

"Yeah …. I know …. But …."

"We better keep looking around. It's too cold in here to stay still for long," Hawke gave her forearm a gentle squeeze, then carefully rose to his full height and moved away to her left, heading toward where the exterior wall and windows had once protected the lab from the elements, picking his way over what looked like lab equipment, and an oxygen cylinder which had exploded, ripped apart leaving torn, sharp, jagged edges.

Hawke frowned, wondering where it had come from, because it seemed so out of place here in a biology lab, then he recalled that the lab on the opposite side of the corridor belonged to the marine biology team and that it was quite possible that they had had oxygen cylinders in their lab, ready for their brief diving trips under the ice.

The question remained, how did it get here?

As Hawke continued to search through the rest of the room, Leigh Roland set about the grisly task of taking samples from Jan Poulsen's body, trying to determine how he had died, but the fire had done too much damage for her to be sure of the cause of death, and there was no way to know, without doing an autopsy, if he had been alive or dead when the fire had started, so she took the samples that she needed and carefully labeled the vials as she slipped them inside the white plastic container.

Even as she worked, Leigh was anxious about Hawke, fearful that he might fall, or trip, or that he might disturb some debris, or worse, that he might find her husband lying under all this wreckage, and she was instantly aware when he came to an abrupt halt and waved his hurricane lantern over something.

"Leigh …."

"What is it?" There was something in his voice that immediately got her attention.

"I found another body …."

With her heart in her mouth, Leigh rose somewhat stiffly and carrying the sample box in one hand, waved the beam of her flashlight in front of her as she carefully picked her way over charred furniture to where Hawke was standing at the back of the lab, beside the burned out skeleton of a row of store cupboards, and sitting propped up in front of the last cupboard in the row was the body of a man. He was wearing what was left of a cream colored sweater, smoke blackened now, and black pants, secured at the waist by a wide leather belt with a huge, fancy silver buckle in the shape of a skull. His head was dropped forward on to his chest and his arms and legs were splayed out on either side of him.

"Struth ...."

Despite the fact that the body had been badly burned, hands and feet practically burned away down to the bones, both Hawke and Roland could clearly see the black handle of a large kitchen knife sticking out of his chest.

"Do you recognize him, Leigh?" Hawke asked gently, although he suspected from her reaction that this man was not Gregory Chandler.

Leigh nodded slowly, wide amber eyes fixed on the silver skull belt buckle.

"Xavier …. Xavier Blanc."

"Well I guess we know what killed him, and that he was probably dead before the fire …." Hawke speculated aloud, watching as Leigh sank slowly down to her haunches and set about examining the body and taking the samples she needed.

Outside, the wind had suddenly decreased in velocity, and it seemed a little lighter out there too. With the wind gone the temperature had dropped, and Hawke could feel the cold seeping into his bones.

They were going to have to get a move on.

If they stayed much longer they would both be in danger of hypothermia, and Hawke desperately wanted to get to Airwolf and try to use the radio while there was a lull in the storm.

He was also anxious about Dominic Santini, knowing that the longer he and Leigh were gone, the more chance there was that the older man would get concerned, or curious, and that no matter how sick he was, he might try to come out and find them.

"Do you think this is where the fire started?" Hawke asked as Leigh closed up her sample box once more and rose stiffly to her feet.

"Maybe …." She responded in a soft, low voice.

"Did they keep oxygen in this lab, Leigh?"

"Maybe. Might have kept a spare one for the guys next door …."

"Yeah, I thought about that. I found an oxygen cylinder over there …." Hawke waved his hurricane lantern in the general direction and Leigh followed the beam of light with her eyes, settling on the damaged cylinder, and frowned.

"That's not oxygen for diving. The cylinder's too big, and it's the wrong color. That's oxygen for mixing with Acetylene. The maintenance guys used it for minor welding repairs …."

Hawke recalled seeing several different gas cylinders when he had investigated warehouse number one, and suddenly realized that the different colors indicated the different contents.

"Then how did it get here?"

"Maybe Xavier brought it. Maybe that's why he's here …. He was one of the maintenance crew," she reminded Hawke softly.

"Ok," Hawke sighed in acceptance, although it still didn't feel quite right to him.

With everyone sick, running around killing each other, killing themselves, it seemed a little odd that the maintenance man would find it more important to concentrate on a welding repair.

Poor guy should probably have been more concerned about winding up with a kitchen knife in his guts, Hawke thought sourly.

However, it did account for the damage to the lab. When the oxygen cylinder had exploded it would have introduced a new source of fuel for the fire to feed on and could even have caused the explosion that had lifted the roof.

"You done?" Hawke asked now, noting the dejected set of Leigh's shoulders as she drew in a slow breath.

"Guess so …."

Hawke could tell that she was getting tired now too. Tired, cold, dejected, lost, out of her depth, and of course, terrified that she would now find her husband in the burned out ruin of the marine biology lab.

"When we're done here, I want to go to Airwolf and try the radio …." Hawke told her, trying to take her mind off the horror to come, as they slowly picked their way back across the room and out into the corridor beyond. "It doesn't seem to be quite so wild out there …."

"Fine," Leigh agreed with a soft sigh. "Then we should get back to Dominic …."

"Yeah. He's probably about ready to blow a gasket …."

"Oh bugger …." Leigh swore softly as Hawke eased open the door to the marine biology lab and she saw the devastation within.

It was hardly recognizable, the room completely blackened and half the roof toppled in on the far side, buckled by the heat and the force of the explosion that had ripped through the room.

As they walked into the shell of the ruined lab, Hawke found himself frowning at the crunching sound coming from beneath his boots as he trod very gingerly and he cast a wary glance at Leigh.

"Glass," she told him without hesitation and they both looked down to find the floor covered in tiny shards of glass, glittering like diamonds and embedded in a treacherous sheet of ice.

"They had an aquarium in here, must have exploded in the heat …." Leigh explained, recalling the huge fish tank that had dominated the center of the lab and noting that all that remained of the huge glass box was the metal frame, which was bent and twisted out of shape, large sections of it embedded in the ceiling over head.

"Be careful, it's very slippery …." Hawke warned unnecessarily as he felt his feet slithering about beneath him.

"This is where the fire started," Leigh told him wearily now, waving the beam of her flashlight around all that remained of the lab. It was mostly soot and ash, hardly anything recognizable as furniture or equipment, but with half the roof missing and all the windows in the external wall gone, the smell of burned wood and paper and plastic was less noxious.

It soon became apparent that they were not going to be able to find anything helpful. The room was just too badly damaged, it's contents burned away to mostly dust and ash, which had then been soaked by the water from the fish tank when the temperature had reached the critical level to make it explode, and then frozen over, leaving behind a thick layer of ice dotted with the marine creatures and plant life whom had called the fish tank home.

Hawke watched Leigh as she carefully made her way around the edge of the room, trying to avoid the thick layer of ice in the center, shining the beam of her flashlight slowly and carefully before her.

Hawke did the same on his side of the room, pausing to take a closer look at a tiny pink fish trapped in the ice, mouth gaping open and eyes dead and dull.

When he looked up, Hawke found Leigh standing quite still on the other side of the room, her flashlight beam settled on a spot on the floor a couple of feet to her left.

Hawke carefully inched his way back the way he had come and moved to where Leigh stood, staring transfixed at something sticking up out of the ice.

Horrified, Hawke suddenly realized that he was looking at a human hand, severed from its body half way between wrist and elbow, fingers pointing upward and slightly curved at the knuckle joint.

It was a hand that had obviously belonged to a white male, Hawke noted, and on the third finger, it bore a distinctive signet ring, a large emerald set in a simple yellow gold setting.

Hawke waved his hurricane lantern around, expecting to find the rest of the body, but there was nothing immediately obvious, and he swallowed down hard.

"Leigh …." He came up beside her slowly and carefully, suspecting that she was in shock as she continued to stare unblinking, at the hand, fingers pointing directly at her, accusingly.

"It's Hans Becker …." She spoke on the merest whisper. "At least that's his wedding ring …."

It was on the tip of Stringfellow Hawke's tongue to tell Leigh that they should call it a day, that it was obvious that they were not going to find anything of further use to their investigation, but then he noted the look of grim determination on her beautiful, elfin face, and knew that Leigh would not abandon the search.

He could see from the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin that she was as determined to be just as thorough in here as she had been elsewhere, that she owed it to the people who had perished here in this room, to find out as much as she could about how and why and where, in honor of them and their memory.

The lab was wrecked, but, Hawke suspected that if Leigh believed that there was something to do be found she would not give up, even if she had to get down on her hands and knees and sift through the debris with a fine tooth comb, and he could not help admiring her, even though he suspected that should he disagree and demand that they return to the station to check on Dominic and get warm, Leigh would refuse, and he couldn't take the risk that she would sneak off while he was sleeping, to come back on her own later.

Hawke mentally retraced their steps and reminded himself of the bodies they had found, counting them off one by one, and realized that there were still seven people unaccounted for, and he knew that Leigh would not be able to rest until she had found them all and discovered how and why they had died.

"Check the edges of the room, Hawke …." Leigh finally pulled herself together, dragging her eyes off the milk white hand sticking up out of the ice and turned bleak, lifeless amber eyes on Hawke, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"If there was an explosion in here, stands to reason their bodies might have been thrown to the edges of the room …." Leigh pointed out and Hawke nodded, realizing that she had a point, pleased to learn that despite the fatigue and the shocked, poleaxed expression her face, she was still thinking rationally.

They continued their search for several minutes, until at last Stringfellow Hawke found what he had hoped that he would not.

In the far left corner of the lab Hawke found the rest of Hans Becker's charred body, blown apart by the force of the explosion that had ripped through the lab.

The body was so badly burned that at first Hawke thought it was just a pile of rags that he was looking at, but then he could just make out teeth jutting out in a lower jawbone and when he moved a brittle burned out shelf which had fallen from it's perch overhead, he found a rib cage poking out through burned fabric.

Hawke winced, not so much from the gruesome sight before him, after today, he doubted that a corpse would ever have the ability to truly unsettle him again, but from the strong, pungent odor rising from both the charred body and the surrounding area.

It had a familiar scent and cloying taste, but Hawke couldn't quite place it.

He knew one thing for certain though.

Its presence signified the use of high explosive.

Someone had tossed a grenade or thrown an incendiary device into this room and then calmly walked away.

That begged the questions who, and why?

"Leigh …." Hawke beckoned his companion over, stretching and reaching out with his hand to help her to negotiate the icy path to the corpse, and could see from the crinkling around her eyes that she had noticed the smell too.

"What is that? Gasoline?" She arched an eyebrow.

"No …. But you're not far off …." Hawke racked his brain trying to place the scent, suddenly seeing flashing through his mind's eye, terrifying images of flaming fields in far flung Vietnam, and understood why it seemed so familiar. "Napalm, maybe …." Hawke wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Or something very similar …."

"Oh God, I really hope poor Hans was dead when this happened to him …." Leigh groaned as she carefully lowered herself to her haunches and tried to get a closer look at the burned corpse of Hans Becker, feeling her stomach roll as the slightly sweet and acidic scent rose off his body.

Hawke stood beside Leigh, holding the hurricane lantern up high so that she could see what she was doing as she gathered the samples that she needed and placed them inside the sample box, and then gently took her elbow to steady Leigh as she rose slowly and awkwardly to her feet once more.

"C'mon Hawke, lets get the hell out of here. I don't know about you, but I feel the need to spend some time with the living …." She mumbled gruffly as she pushed her way passed him and made her way toward the door, careful to avoid slipping on the icy floor.

Hawke did not respond, but he found himself echoing the sentiment as he too carefully picked his way around the outside edge of the room, glancing back briefly to the far corner and Hans Becker's body, then shaking his head in confusion and disgust, he followed Leigh Roland back out into the corridor.

/a\

Stringfellow Hawke came to an abrupt halt as he emerged through the fire door at the far end of the corridor, suddenly dazzled by the brightness of the daylight bouncing off the virgin snow, after spending all that time in the dark interior of the labs.

He had heard the expression 'snow blind', but had never thought to experience it for himself. This mission was certainly proving to be an education, he found himself thinking sardonically.

He was startled by the stark contrast in the weather, finding a cool, clear, crisp winters day when only a few hours before there had been turbulent winds and murky low cloud.

Hawke ripped off the clammy, filthy latex gloves, stuffing them in the pockets of his coat. Pulling off the surgical face mask he squinted and blotted the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes away with the back of his hand and carefully sucked in a deep, cleansing breath, wanting to rid himself of the stench of smoke and death, only to suddenly find himself consumed by a fit of violent coughing as the frigid air hit his expanding lungs.

Instantly Leigh Roland was by his side, her mask dangling loosely around her chin as she regarded him with anxious amber eyes.

"I'm ok," Hawke choked out breathlessly, his eyes once again filling with tears from the cold and the coughing, but he managed a half smile of reassurance for her as he took in her disheveled appearance, coat and jeans streaked with soot and a wide dirty smear across her brow where she had rubbed it with her gloved finger and wondered if he looked as filthy.

The air outside was cold and crisp and clean, but he could not shift the stink of fire from his nostrils as he continued to breathe deeply and he suspected that it was emanating from his clothes, and hair too and suddenly he desperately wanted to stand under a fast running hot shower and scrub the horror of the day away from his flesh.

"Liar. You're exhausted," Leigh chastised now but allowed herself a ghost of a smile in return. "C'mon, let's get inside …."

"No, I want to go try Airwolf's radio," Hawke protested. "We might not get another chance if the weather turns …." He pointed out. "You go inside and take a look at Dom, I won't be long …."

"No way, buster," Leigh glowered at him now, amber eyes twinkling brightly as she too squinted in the unusual brightness. "We had a deal, remember? I'm coming with you."

"Ok," Hawke acquiesced knowing that it was pointless to argue with her, and wasting no time, he set off in the direction of warehouse two and Airwolf.

"I'll catch up with you. I want to get rid of this first …." Leigh called after him, and when he turned back, briefly, she raised the sample box and indicated with her other hand that she wanted to leave it in the doorway of the main accommodation block ready to be collected on the way back inside and Hawke lifted his right hand and waved in acknowledgement, then continued on his way, walking slowly and carefully, wading through the fresh layer of deep snow.

Making sure that Hawke was never out of her sight, Leigh hurried back across the covered walk way and deposited the sample box just inside the swing fire doors of the main accommodation block, beside the hurricane lantern and boxes of emergency supplies that Hawke and Dominic had left there the previous day, and then she too struck out, wading through the new snow until breathless, lungs aching and legs burning, she came to Hawke's tracks and kept to his deep foot prints, finding the going a little easier on the snow he had trampled down.

Leigh caught up with Hawke as he was wrestling with the heavy wooden door and she helped him to get it open, then they both stumbled inside and closing the door behind them leaned heavily against it as they paused to get their breath.

"She really is beautiful …." Leigh commented as her eyes settled on the sleek, shark-like helicopter sitting in the middle of the warehouse. "I didn't get chance to take a really good look at her the other day …." She added breathily. "Two things I always remembered about you, Hawke. Your passion for surfing and your love of flying …. I never could go to the beach, or get on a plane without thinking about you …" She told him sadly, turning her head now to regard him wistfully as he set down the hurricane lantern on the floor.

"She isn't really mine. She's sort of on loan …." Hawke told her, lowering his eyes briefly so that she would not see the lie.

Strictly speaking, Airwolf was his hostage, being held to ransom until he got what he wanted from The Firm.

St John.

Alive, or dead. Hawke didn't care, he just wanted, _**needed**_ to know the truth at last.

Hawke had vowed not to return the magnificent prototype Mach 1 helicopter until he had some solid, reliable information about what had happened to his older brother in Vietnam.

In the beginning, it had been his intention just to stow her away, but then Archangel had come to him with a proposal about using Airwolf from time to time to fly missions on behalf of The Firm and the government, in exchange for keeping the law enforcement sharks at bay, and after having had a taste of what it felt like to be at her controls, to have all that power at his command, flying her for real in combat situations, Hawke had known that he did not really have any choice.

"Is this what you do with your life, Hawke?" Leigh asked him gently now, regarding him with genuine curiosity. "Are you some kind of troubleshooter?"

"I'm a Hollywood stunt pilot," he growled on a ragged breath. "Dom and I fly stunts for movies and television, Leigh …."

"And in the evenings and at weekends you turn into James Bond ….." She teased gently and grinned becomingly, but it quickly slid from her lips when she saw the dark warning scowl setting on his handsome features.

"I'm not a secret agent, Leigh. I'm a pilot," he told her coldly now, his expression clearly conveying to her that if there was more to it, she definitely did not want to know about it.

"Ah …. I see. What I don't know can't kill me. Right?" There was something about the tone of her voice that told Hawke that she was being serious now.

"C'mon, let's see if we can get through to Archangel, or Nome …."

With a heavy sigh, Hawke pushed himself away from the door and strode slowly over to the majestic black and white helicopter going around the tail section and reaching out to pop open the left side cockpit door, then stood aside so that Leigh could climb in.

"Hawke …." Leigh grew hesitant as she came up to stand beside him.

There was so much that she wanted to say to him, but suddenly she could not find the right words.

She wanted to tell him that she understood what drove him. His patriotism, and loyalty, his love of his country and his family. His strong sense of duty and justice, a compulsion to stand up for the things he believed in strongly and to do the right thing.

She wanted to tell him that these were good things. They were things that made him a good man, a strong man, a man to trust in a crisis and a man to be proud of, but most of all she wanted to remind him that his life meant something too, for she could not help feeling that he seemed to place little value on it himself.

She had this terrible sense that Hawke feared that his life was pointless, meaningless unless he died righting some wrong, fighting some cause.

Some causes were worth dying for, she understood that, but there were many more that were worth living for.

Leigh wanted to say all of these things. She wanted to reach out and take him in her arms and tell him that his life was precious, that it meant everything to the people who loved him.

She, the woman who had mourned the loss of his life for almost twelve years, knew that better than any one else alive ….

She wanted to tell him that he did not have to keep putting himself in the firing line, that he did not have to go out in a blaze of glory to prove him self or to be considered a worthy human being, to leave his mark on the world. He did that every day by being the man that he was.

Instead, Leigh said nothing.

It was not her place, and she suddenly realized that if Hawke did not know these things by now, mere words would never convince him.

Leigh offered him a gentle smile as she moved to stand in the open cockpit door way, and for a split second, Hawke felt the breath catch in the back of his throat as he saw the tender expression on her face.

Love.

Pure and sweet and unconditional love.

And something else that he was at a loss to describe, but which made his heart skip a beat in his chest.

Then Leigh was ducking inside Airwolf, clambering up into the co-pilot's seat and getting her self comfortable in the small space and the moment was gone.

"I know it's a long shot, but like I said, we might not get another chance …." Hawke found him self mumbling, shocked by what he had just seen in Leigh's eyes, and took a moment to clear his throat and pull himself to together before continuing.

"We have to try to make radio contact with the outside world, Leigh. If they don't hear from us, they might begin to think that something bad happened to us too, and send someone else up here to find out for sure. We can't risk that happening. We wouldn't want any more people to get sick …."

Leigh nodded in agreement, huddled up inside her filthy, damp coat, while Hawke came around to the other side and climbed in beside her, pulling off the hood of his Parka coat as he reached up for the head set which was sitting on a peg behind his seat.

Now that he had taken off the surgical face mask, and no longer had the fur of the hood concealing most of his face, Leigh was shocked to see just how pale and sickly Hawke looked, again unable to conceal her reaction from him.

Hawke ignored her startled look as he slipped on the headset and reached out to turn on the radio, only to be instantly greeted by a string of electronic white noise that made him jump and quickly snatch off the head set, before it deafened him.

He reached out and turned down the volume then pulled the headset back over his head, positioning the earphone over one ear and the microphone over his mouth.

"Airwolf calling Knightsbridge," he spoke gruffly, his voice deep and rough, sounding as if it were emanating from somewhere down in his belly. "Airwolf calling Knightsbridge …."

Again he was greeted by a long string of static and a high pitched whistling sound, followed by a burst of crackling and what sounded like very faint music.

Hawke leaned forward to retune the radio, altering the frequency before trying again.

"Try Nome," Leigh suggested helpfully and Hawke nodded, turning the dial on the radio to Nome's radio frequency.

"Nome home base this is Stringfellow Hawke calling from Whiteout Station, are you receiving me, over?"

Again there was another burst of static, and then, barely audible over the whistling and whining, Hawke thought he heard a female voice.

"Nome, this is Stringfellow Hawke calling from Whiteout Station, are you receiving me?" He persisted and this time the voice was a little more distinguishable over the static and white noise.

"Hawke …." More static and garbled words only one of which Hawke was able to make out. "Status …."

Hawke heard Leigh Roland's sigh of relief as she too recognized that one word.

Finally they had got through to someone.

"Nome, this is Stringfellow Hawke, we are declaring a medical emergency, over. Do you read me?"

"Rog …." The female voice disintegrated in another burst of static and Hawke let out a sigh of frustration.

Obviously the storm front had moved on down toward Nome and was still affecting communications.

"Nome, do you read me? Please confirm, over …."

In response there was only more electronic white noise and Hawke sank back in his seat, lifting his right hand to rub gently at the center of his brow, where he could feel the beginnings of a headache making its self known.

"Tell them I'm officially putting the station under quarantine, Hawke …." Leigh spoke softly, noting the pain etched into his grey face when he opened his eyes and nodded gently in understanding.

"Nome, this is Airwolf, if you are reading me, Dr Roland is officially declaring the station a quarantine area. I repeat, Dr Roland is officially declaring the station a quarantine area. Do not send anyone else up here. There is a contagion of unknown origin at the station. Do you read me, Nome?"

This time in response there was a series of electronic beeps and then just empty air.

"Damn …." Hawke cursed.

"Keep trying," Leigh encouraged. "Just because we're having trouble hearing them it doesn't mean that they can't hear you," she pointed out sensibly.

Hawke knew that she was right.

"Nome home base, this is Stringfellow Hawke calling from Whiteout Station, if you are reading me, please contact Knightsbridge and apprise them of our situation, over."

There was no response at all from the radio this time and Hawke glanced over at Leigh in frustration and she offered him a weak smile and a slight shrug.

"Try Knightsbridge again," she suggested, and watched as Hawke leaned forward to alter the frequency back to the one for The Firm.

However, before Hawke had a chance to speak the radio let forth a loud shrieking sound that filled the cockpit and he again ripped off the head set, scowling darkly at the radio, his ears ringing.

"Dammit …." He exclaimed, shaking his head and wincing, then realized that there was a different noise coming from the radio.

"Hawke, is that you? Dammit …. Hawke, can you hear me?"

A tinny, very distant, but familiar sounding voice was fighting to make its self heard over a burst of static, and suddenly Hawke was grinning at Leigh Roland.

"Archangel?" Hawke pulled the head set back over his ear and mouth and spoke into the microphone. "This is Hawke, do you read me?"

"Hawke! Thank God!" Hawke was greeted by Michael Coldsmith Briggs III's unusually excited voice. "Where they hell have you been!" The government man demanded in exasperation.

"Where the hell do you think I've been? Playing tag with the polar bears!" Hawke growled back, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips now, and he could see Leigh Roland smiling her relief back at him.

"Hawke …." More static erupted form the radio, and Hawke felt his heart drop as the man in white was briefly drowned out by electronic white noise.

"Archangel? Are you still reading me?"

"I don't have a lot of time …." Archangel fought to make himself heard once more. "There's some kind of flap here …. Something about a …."

Again the government man's voice was drowned out, but Hawke got the picture.

There was always some kind of flap going on these days.

Airwolf's missions was only one of many areas that Archangel was responsible for supervising and often had to take a back seat if Archangel needed to devote his time to more pressing matters of national security.

The government man knew that Hawke was more than capable of operating on his own initiative and was more than happy to let him do so, within reason. Sometimes he did not have any other choice.

However, Hawke suddenly found it odd that Archangel would waste time telling him about something, especially if it did not directly affect Airwolf's mission or his own safety, and even more so with such a bad connection, when they had other more important matters to address.

"Ok Michael, then I'll make this snappy, the connection isn't very good …."

"Dammit Hawke, did you hear what I said? Doggonit Marella .... Lousy signal …. Hawke? Do you read me? Hawke .... I can barely hear you …. What …." Archangel's voice was drowned out once more.

"Michael? Michael?" Hawke snarled, losing patience. "Listen up, Michael, I'm still not sure what exactly went on up here, but it seems pretty obvious that the scientists are all dead. Dr Roland believes that there is some kind of contagion on the loose, so she is declaring a medical emergency and advising that the station be placed under quarantine. Did you get that, Michael? Don't send anyone else up here …."

Hawke knew that he was fighting a losing battle as the radio continued to squawk and squeak and hiss and whine and he hung his head briefly in resignation.

"Michael?"

There was another burst of static and then the radio went dead, and Hawke knew that it would be pointless to keep trying, only wasting Airwolf's precious reserve battery power.

All he could do was hope that Archangel had copied the last part of his transmission and that he would not take it into his head to send a rescue party up here to rescue Airwolf and her team.

"At least they know we're still alive," Leigh pointed out, noting Hawke's hangdog expression as he peeled the head set off once more and restored it to the peg behind his seat, alongside his helmet.

"You did your best, Hawke …." She reached out now and laid a reassuring hand gently against his thigh. "C'mon, let's go see how Dominic is doing," she coaxed gently, and Hawke finally nodded in resignation, knowing that there was nothing more that he could do.

He had given Archangel the most important pieces of information. The scientists were all dead, and there was some kind of deadly contagion on the loose up here. At least now there was less chance of another rescue mission being put together to find out what had happened to Airwolf and her crew, and no more innocent people would be exposed.

It was the best that he could do right now.

Hawke knew that Leigh was subtly making the point that they needed to get inside where it was warm, and if he was honest with himself, he was just too damned sick and tired right now to argue with her.

His head was spinning, his mind filled with images of all that they had found back there in the labs, questions tumbling around and around, making him dizzy, and as Hawke slipped out of his seat and turned to close the cockpit door behind him, the ground suddenly rushed up to greet him, and he stumbled, reaching out to Airwolf's hull for support.

"Hawke!" Leigh exclaimed, rushing up beside him, reaching out to him as he rocked very unsteadily.

"I'm ok …." He assured her swallowing down bitter bile that had suddenly risen in the back of his throat and the desire to heave. He closed his eyes, hoping that it would stop the world from spinning, but it only made it worse and he felt his knees beginning to buckle beneath him.

Leigh's strong arm came around his waist, supporting his weight and he opened his eyes to find her shocked, anxious eyes boring into him.

"You're a bloody idiot, Hawke. Why didn't you tell me you felt like this?" She railed, taking in his pale, clammy skin and the tiny beads of perspiration on his brow.

"It only just happened …." He told her lamely, dragging in a deep breath only to find his throat and lungs rebelling and he gave into a burst of deep, hacking coughs.

"We've got to get you inside where it's warm …."

"I'm not arguing …." Hawke threw her a wry half smile as he recovered his breath at last.

"Think you can make it?"

"Sure …." He responded in a soft, low voice, his over bright blue eyes fixing on her concerned face and his expression softening just a little now as he recalled the way she had looked at him just a few moments before and wondered what she had been thinking and feeling. "Leigh …."

"C'mon, let's get you back to the recreation room," Leigh ignored the question in his voice and applied a little pressure around his waist as she took a step forward.

"Well put some bloody effort into it, you lazy drongo!" She cajoled, trying to hide how desperately worried she really was about him. "If you think I plan to carry your sorry butt all the way then you can think again!"


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Fifteen – Saturday, February 25th 1984._**

**_Approximately 3.30am local time._**

"Leigh?"

Stringfellow Hawke spoke in a low, gruff voice, his throat raw, like it had been cut to ribbons with ground glass. His whole body felt as if it was on fire, and every bone and sinew ached. His chest felt tight, like an iron band was squeezing the air from his lungs and although he could barely keep his eyes open, sleep was still a very long way away.

With Leigh's help, Hawke feeling more than a little embarrassed and self conscious that he needed to be leaning quite so heavily on her, his legs rubbery and weak beneath him, they had slowly made their way back to the main accommodation block, and much to their surprise found an anxious Dominic Santini, wheezing and breathless and shivering, waiting just inside the fire doors from the covered walkway.

Santini explained breathlessly that he had dozed for a while after Hawke and Leigh Roland had left, but then he had needed to use the bathroom, and after returning to the recreation room, boredom had set in and he had decided to make himself useful by making a little something warm for them all to eat when the others returned.

He had slipped on his boots and his Parka coat and gone to the kitchen to sort out supplies, and out of the kitchen window had caught sight of the pair of them trudging back across the compound from warehouse number one.

Santini had seen immediately that something was wrong with his young friend, Hawke leaning heavily against Leigh Roland as they waded through the piles of fresh snow toward the accommodation block, both of them so tired they could barely stand upright, and he had hurried to the covered walkway to meet them.

"What happened!" Santini had demanded gruffly as he took one of Hawke's arms and slipped it around his considerable shoulder, sharing the younger man's weight with Leigh Roland as they walked slowly through the dark corridors back to the recreation room, all of them gasping and panting loudly in the still, dark silence, wheezing in harmony like a barbershop trio.

"Nothing happened, Dom …." Hawke had growled. "We're both just beat …."

"Sure, and I 'm the Queen of England!" Santini had blustered. "Don't lie to me, String!"

"We're fine Mr Santini, really, just cold and tired …." Leigh Roland had assured as they reached the swing doors leading to the recreation room.

"How are you feeling, Mr Santini?" She had enquired, panting, as they made their way to the mattresses on the floor and finally helped Hawke to sit on the one closest to the space heater, helping him out of his coat and boots.

"I'm good …. And it's Dom, remember?" Santini had grown coy then as he watched Leigh Roland grab a blanket off her own mattress and throw it around Hawke's shoulders, and suspected that she knew that he was still trying to play down just how wretched he really felt.

As she looked around for her medical bag, Leigh finally had a good look at the older man and smiled softly to her self knowing that she had achieved her goal of taking his mind off just how ill his young friend appeared to be and how quickly he had deteriorated.

It was certainly good to see Santini up on his feet again, and at that moment, he had looked a helluva lot better than Stringfellow Hawke.

"Going crazy staring at the walls and ceiling, but good," he fibbed. "I knew you too would be frozen to the bone when you got back so I have everything ready to make us something hot to eat …."

"Thanks. That's just what we need, but let me take a look at Hawke first."

"I'm ok, Leigh …."

"Dammit, you're not ok, now will you quit fighting me and let me take a proper look at you …."

Dominic Santini had stood silently by for a few moments, watching Hawke's lack luster efforts to fend off Leigh Roland's attempts to take his temperature and pulse, anxious because that in its self was an indication that the younger man was starting to get sicker too, but mildly reassuring that he was still stubborn enough to put up a bit of a fight, if only for show. Amused by the younger man's antics, after all, who did the kid think he was fooling .... smiling softly to himself, knowing that his young friend was in good hands, he had made his way back to the kitchen to finish putting together their meal.

After Leigh had finished checking Hawke over she had dosed him and Santini up with Aspirin and antibiotics and then over the meal of canned Minestrone soup and tinned pears Hawke and Roland had tried to explain to Dominic Santini, not in too great a detail, what they had found in the research labs, until weariness had over come them all and they had retired for the night.

It had been possibly one of the toughest days of Hawke's life, and he had seen some horrific sights on the battle fields and in the field hospitals of Vietnam, but today had tested even his nerve and mettle, so Hawke knew it had to have been twice as hard on Leigh Roland.

He knew that she was still awake, despite the fact that she was lying with her back turned to him.

He could practically hear her mind working, and he could tell from the erratic, jerky way she was breathing, shoulders shaking, and the telltale little sniff now and again, that she was weeping silently into her pillow, mourning the lives of the friends and colleagues that they had discovered in the labs.

And no doubt still tormented about the fate of Gregory Chandler, whose remains had not been amongst those they had found.

He hated to disturb her, knowing that it was good for her to expend all that grief and sorrow rather than keep it bottled up inside her, but, Hawke hadn't been able to stop thinking about that.

In all, they had found the remains of seven of the scientists in the labs, added to the five they had already found in other locations around the compound, but that still left seven people unaccounted for.

Gregory Chandler, Dr Sheila Murray, Bjorn Christiansen, Inga Bergstrom, Daniel Smith, Torben Eriksen and Barry Payne.

Where could they have gone?

Hawke had been awake for hours, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the wind howling and screaming outside, as it buffeted the roof and the eaves, and thinking over the possibilities.

Had Leigh been right all along, when she had put forward the suggestion that perhaps the scientists managed to get off a mayday call on the radio, and someone had responded, evacuating these seven people before they became ill?

It seemed highly improbable, but right now, he had no other scenarios in mind ….

Not any with happy endings that was.

He couldn't shake the horrible images of flaming fields, set ablaze by Napalm bombs released from planes in Vietnam.

Napalm burned fast and hot, using up all the available oxygen quickly, he recalled from training sessions back there in Vietnam.

He personally had never been involved in dropping the stuff, most of what he did in 'Nam being reconnaissance, insertion of units of small numbers of men with specific drop sites and specific missions, and their retrieval when their job was done, or medevac, but everyone had had to be aware of what the stuff was capable of doing, especially if there was a chance that they might get trapped on the ground when a raid was planned.

It was lethal stuff, super efficient, and most effective at sterilization of forested areas.

**_Sterilization._**

Is that what whomever had tossed the incendiary device into marine biology lab had had in mind?

Like cauterizing a wound, burning everything to ensure that the contagion was destroyed?

Leigh probably had it right when she had speculated that someone had hoped that the wind would help to do the job for them, leaving little or no real evidence behind.

Hawke thought back to the weather reports for this area that he and Dominic had received prior to picking up Leigh Roland and coming up to the top of the world, and remembered that for the two days prior to the beginning of their mission; the weather up here had been wretched. Two storm cells had settled over the area and had only just begun to clear as he and Dominic Santini had picked up Leigh Roland on that lonely stretch of desert highway in the early hours of Wednesday morning.

If there had been other people here before Airwolf and her crew had arrived, then it was possible that the storm had deposited enough new snow over the area to hide any trace of their tracks, and it was plausible that they had done such a shoddy job of destroying the research labs because the deteriorating weather had forced them to beat a hasty retreat.

That still didn't answer the question about whether anyone had still been alive when these mystery rescuers had arrived.

Had they evacuated live bodies, or simply sort to destroy any evidence of what had happened here, hoping that whoever came after them, to investigate, would assume that everyone had been killed in the fire in the labs?

Were there still remains over there?

Had they missed something?

Recalling what they had found in the marine biology lab, Hawke doubted that they would have found any other remains.

He and Leigh had been quite thorough.

Without sifting through every grain of ash and every speck of dust, he could not say for certain of course, but he sincerely doubted it, and Leigh had told him that he would know if he found human ashes or bones.

And he couldn't get away from the fact that that still left seven people unaccounted for.

Had they been rescued?

Or was there another possibility?

Hawke couldn't help wondering if, in their madness, these remaining seven people had simply taken off, gone off out there onto the ice, and had gotten lost, like the original party that had gone out in search of the meteorite.

Disappeared into some deep, dark crevice or trapped on an ice floe, drifting further and further away from any chance of rescue?

Perhaps they had not been as sick as the others and had decided to take their chances on the ice, preferring to die a quick death out there, than to succumb to the madness ….

A different method of suicide to the one Eunice Anderson had chosen, but suicide nevertheless.

Bravery or cowardice? Hawke thought sourly.

For him, the jury was still out on that one.

Braver to go on living, or to die?

He was still undecided, but suspected that he would always chose life, for anything else would be an even greater betrayal of his parents ….

And St John.

His parents had died in an accident, their lives taken from them suddenly and unexpectedly.

St John, if indeed he was dead, had given his life, fighting for something that he believed in.

Knowing that, Stringfellow Hawke could not, therefore, simply throw his life away for no good reason.

He didn't mind dying for a good cause, defending his country or protecting the people and the things that he loved, but to simply give up on everything and throw his life away because it was just too hard, too painful to go on any longer, went against the grain.

He gave a soft sigh of frustration now, wishing that they had had more luck with Airwolf's radio, but despite the fact that the weather had cleared here at Whiteout Station, if only briefly, the storm front was still affecting radio transmissions and most of what he had gotten out of her radio equipment, was the same electronic white noise and static that had greeted Dominic Santini when he had tried to reach Archangel and Nome the day before yesterday.

He had managed to exchange a few words with Archangel, getting across the most pertinent points, and Hawke knew that Archangel would no doubt be equally frustrated by the brief conversation, but there was nothing that Hawke could do about the atmospheric conditions.

They were grounded, indefinitely because even if they weren't infected with some unknown contagion and had voluntarily quarantined themselves here at Whiteout, the weather had closed in quickly once more, deteriorating rapidly with the descending darkness of night, and there was no way that Stringfellow Hawke would risk taking Airwolf up in this kind of storm.

Even if he was well.

That really would be suicide.

Airwolf had some unique attributes, but she was just a susceptible as any other helicopter at the critical points of the flight, take off and landing, and with winds of this velocity, sub zero temperatures and blinding snow blizzards, no matter how strong, or how skillful her pilot at maintaining trim and torque and level flight, her main rotor was just as likely to ice up as the Bell Jet Ranger's was under the same conditions.

Until he could speak to Archangel again, Hawke had no idea who the mystery rescuers might have been, if indeed there had been anyone other than the scientist here at Whiteout, although he could take a wild guess.

Archangel would be able to put out feelers, make discreet enquiries as to any marine activity in the area, be that legitimate fishing vessels or scientific research vessels, or Russian or US military exercises.

Until the weather cleared, Hawke knew, both he and Archangel would just have to deal with their mutual frustration.

Hawke was also curious about the other business that was preoccupying Archangel, for although the man hadn't said anything of the kind, Hawke could not get away from the feeling that it was relevant to their situation at Whiteout.

What was it Archangel had been trying to tell him? Had it been some kind of cryptic, coded warning?

Hawke could not get away from the fact that it must have been important, or Archangel would not have said anything at all, but again, all he had managed to do was go round and around in circles, giving himself a nagging headache into the bargain.

Maybe, he told himself sarcastically, you are just too damned suspicious for your own good!

"You ok?" Leigh slowly turned over to face him now, and Hawke could see from the puffy redness around her eyes and hear from the thickness of her voice that he had been right in his supposition that she had been lying there weeping.

"Yeah," he rumbled, choking back a deep, hacking cough. "Can't sleep," he stated the obvious.

"Me neither, but it's hardly surprising, is it …."

"No, I guess …."

After the day that they had both just had, no, it wasn't at all surprising that neither of them could shake the horrific images burned into their brains.

"I've been lying here, thinking …."

"I know …."

"Every time I close my eyes …. Dammit, I'm at a loss, Hawke …."

"I know. Me too."

"Do you want some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I don't need anything else to keep me awake …." He threw her a lopsided smile now.

"Yeah, you're right. Just thought physically _**doing something**_ might help to take my mind off things, I guess," she gave him a rueful smile, then lay back against her pillow and closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

"How about some more Aspirin?" Leigh opened her eyes at last and pulled her left hand out from under the blankets, glancing down at the face of her watch. "You're about due …." She reminded.

"Later maybe …. Leigh, I've been meaning to ask you something, but what with one thing and another, it slipped my mind …."

"Ask me what?" Leigh Roland regarded him curiously as she propped her self up on her arm and tried to make herself comfortable.

"Well, you probably think it's dumb, but I was wondering, how exactly did you guys get this place built in the first place?"

"You want me to tell you a bedtime story?" Leigh's eyes grew wide now and she smothered a grin. "I could probably come up with something a little more interesting than 'how we built Whiteout Station'. Let me think …. Oh yeah, once upon a time …."

"In a galaxy far far away, no doubt," Hawke snorted derisively and then they both grinned at each other.

"No, I'm serious, Leigh. I'd really like to know. You couldn't have gotten all the Nissan huts and other building materials or the heavy plant machinery up here in that small supply plane …." He reasoned in a low, gruff voice, not wanting to disturb Dominic Santini.

"Alright, I'll bite. All the heavy stuff came by sea," Leigh told him matter of factly, stifling a yawn with a balled fist whilst trying to disguise brushing away the last of her tears at the same time, as she marveled at the things that he thought about in the dead of night when sleep was a stranger.

"They used an ice breaker …. A ship that can break through the ice," she explained, moving her hand deeper under her pillow, to give her self more height and allow her to see his face more easily, a frown knitting her brow as she wondered where he was going with this line of thinking.

"They tried to get as much of the stuff up here in the summer, when the ice was thinner. They got as close to shore as they could, then transported the stuff over the ice on tractors and snow mobiles. The building crews used the ship as their home base, working on setting things up here in the daytime and going back to the ship at night."

"It must have taken them months to build this place …." Hawke mused, admiring the tenacity of the men who had built the station from scratch.

"Not really, most of it was ready to be assembled. They had a deadline. Big bonuses all around too. Had to get it finished before the weather got bad."

"And when did you get here?"

"Not until the place was finished. Greg and I were the last to arrive …. We kind of got waylaid …. Took a detour …. Stopped off in Vegas for a few days honeymoon …." She paused to draw in a ragged breath.

"By the time we got here, everything was practically up and running. We took some stick from the others for that for a while …."

She smiled softly at the memory of the good natured teasing and ribbing that she and Greg had endured in the first few weeks after their arrival.

"Leigh!" Hawke exclaimed as he struggled to sit up on the mattress, his eyes suddenly wide and boring into Leigh's weary face.

"You ok?" She regarded him with concern now, also struggling to sit up.

"Yeah, yeah …. Leigh …." Hawke coughed and spluttered, determined to get something off his chest, literally and figuratively.

She could see the spark of excitement in his lovely blue eyes and wondered what was going on inside his head.

"What is it?"

"Is there a portable radio on the station?" Hawke managed to get out at last, his heart knocking against his ribcage, having suddenly come up with an alternative theory as to why there were seven people missing from the station, and why they might have decided to go out on to the ice, and this one had the potential at least for the happy ending he craved for Leigh Roland's husband, Gregory Chandler.

"It's just a thought, but maybe the builders had a portable radio to keep in contact with the ship? And maybe they left it behind when they had finished, as a back up for you guys?"

"Bugger it, why didn't I think of that!" Leigh spat out, sitting up sharply, angered by her own slow wittedness and stupidity, but looking for all the world like a drowning man, going under for the very last time, suddenly being thrown a life preserver.

"Of course there's a ruddy portable radio, but we never had need to use it …. We had the main radio on the station, and we used walkie-talkies out on the ice because the weather interfered with anything long range …."

"Leigh, do you know where the portable radio was kept?" Hawke asked in a soft, low, but hopeful voice.

"Sure do …."

She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, rising swiftly and marching away from Hawke with only thick socks on her feet.

Hawke sank wearily back against his mattress, turning his head to regard the sleeping form of Dominic Santini, worried by the asthmatic wheezing coming from his old friend with every breath he took and the high color on his cheeks.

Hawke knew that Dominic was getting worse, despite the fact that Leigh had told him that his old friend was still holding his own.

Hawke could clearly hear that Santini's chest was getting more and more congested, and he could hear his own chest rattling away with every inhalation.

When Leigh returned to the recreation room a few minutes later, Hawke could see that she was invigorated and excited, and she could hardly get her breath back as she sat down on the mattress and regarded him with fiery amber eyes.

"It's gone," she told him without preamble. "The radio's gone …."

"Leigh …."

"I know! I know! Don't get too excited, because someone could just as easily have tossed it out and buried it out there in the snow for all we know, but …."

"It is possible that someone took the radio out onto the ice, maybe hoping that once they got far enough away from here they might get an emergency signal out to someone," Hawke reasoned, emitting a huge sigh.

"Maybe someone made a decision to send out a party onto the ice, to try to get help? You said you guys speculated about their being a ship or a sub out there, Russian or otherwise …. If these people were desperate enough, Leigh, maybe they thought it was worth setting out there to try to raise someone on the radio …."

"Greg …."

"Maybe."

"When the weather clears and we can get back on Airwolf's radio, I'll get Archangel to check out if there are any ships out there who might have been close enough to reach them. Maybe someone picked them up …."

"Oh God …. I hope so …."

"And then maybe whoever picked them up sent a party here to try to evacuate other survivors …. Or clean up any evidence of what really happened here …."

"The Russians?"

**_So he wasn't the only one with a suspicious mind …._**

"Maybe …. It's looking more and more likely, after all, they are only spitting distance away, and I know that they do maintain some kind of low key presence in the Arctic Ocean," he told her in a low growling whisper.

"They call it war games, or exercises, but everyone knows that they are really doing out there. Watching and listening …. Spying on us …. Planning targets in the event of a war …." He paused to drag in a breath.

"And whatever was used to start the fire, or the explosion in the marine biology lab, it points to military involvement. No ordinary every day fisherman is going to have something similar to Napalm on his ship …" He pointed out rationally.

"Russians, Chinese, little green men from Mars, I don't care, just so long as they are safe …."

Hawke watched now as Leigh's beautiful amber eyes welled with tears, but she dashed them away impatiently before they could tumble through her lashes and down her cheeks.

She had said **_they_**, but Hawke knew that what she had really meant was Gregory Chandler and he found himself hoping the same thing.

He didn't know the man, but he did know that Leigh Roland loved him.

He would do anything to spare her the heartache of losing another man that she loved, of falling into the same trap that he had, believing that every woman that he loved was destined to die, simply by virtue of the fact that her life had somehow collided with his own.

She was no more jinxed than he was.

Leigh was alive and well, a survivor of her encounter with him, proof positive that his theory was flawed.

Not every woman he loved was destined to die ….

And then he remembered where they were, and what they were facing, and revised that thought.

It was quite possible that they were all three of them going to die, and if that was the case, Hawke found himself hoping that they would at least be able to shed a little light on what had happened here and get the information back to civilization before that happened, thus ensuring that someone knew the truth about how and why they had died, deterring anyone else from getting curious and placing themselves in danger, and that whatever it was that had caused this tragedy, ended here.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Fifteen – Saturday, February 25th 1984._**

**_Approximately 11.30pm local time._**

"Dammit, Hawke, you should be in bed!" Leigh railed at Stringfellow Hawke, watching with horror as he was consumed by another bout of debilitating coughing, removing his hand from his mouth to find a smear of blood on his knuckle.

She knew that he was desperately worried about Dominic Santini. She was too, but she also needed to give her full attention to the work that she was doing.

Poor Dominic had suddenly taken a turn for the worse in the early hours of the morning, not long after Hawke and Roland had reached the startling conclusion that it was possible that at least some of the scientists at Whiteout might have been rescued. His fever had spiked and along with that he had succumbed to bouts of delirium and his breathing had grown labored.

To try to reduce the fever, Leigh had taken a couple of blankets outside and shoveled handfuls of frozen snow into them and then she had carried them carefully back into the recreation room and rolling them up tightly had laid one down on each side of the whole length of Dominic Santini's body.

She had placed an oxygen mask over Santini's face and set up an IV drip to keep him hydrated and to administer fever reducing drugs directly into his blood stream, and she had increased the dose of his oral antibiotics, wishing that she had something stronger, but as she still had no idea what she was dealing with, Leigh knew that she was only buying him time, not actually fighting the disease, and despite all her best efforts his temperature continued to rise alarmingly.

Hawke too was deteriorating quickly, all his strength draining away, but he stubbornly refused to give into it.

Leigh suspected that it was only sheer will power that was keeping him on his feet as he tended to Dominic Santini, mopping the older man's brow tenderly and holding a glass of ice cold bottled water to his lips so that he could sip it now and again, helping Leigh to change the ice blankets when they began to melt and in between periods of delirium, when he was calm and more lucid, Stringfellow Hawke cajoled his old friend, prompting him to recount one war story after another to try to keep him awake, fearing that if Dominic fell asleep, he would slip into unconsciousness.

Knowing that they were running out of time and that for the time being she had done all that she could to make the older man comfortable, leaving Hawke to nurse Santini as best he could, Leigh had hurried to sickbay to begin analyzing samples.

She had been here for hours, and was disappointed that she had made little progress.

Stringfellow Hawke had divided his time between sitting with Santini and watching Leigh work, and although she understood his need, she had grown more agitated and impatient, distracted by his presence, breathing over her shoulder, and her concern for him, as she was forced to sit back and watch him getting weaker and sicker by the hour.

"You're not doing yourself any favors you know!"

She hastily slipped off the stool she had been sitting on, placed before the microscope she had been using to analyze fresh slides from the samples she had taken yesterday, and rushed to support Hawke as his legs grew shaky and he pitched forward to lean heavily against the counter.

"I'm ok …."

"Dammit, Hawke!"

"Leigh …." He threw her a warning look now, and in exasperation, Leigh glowered at him, but took the hint and returned to the microscope, slipping back up onto the stool and after running her fingers through her hair and then rubbing her tired eyes, peered through the eye pieces at the slide.

The current slide was a smear of blood from a sample she had taken from Lenny Skinner and it was loaded with the same virus that she had seen in her own, Hawke's and Dominic Santini's samples.

"You were saying it's a virus …." Hawke prompted, breathless and looking grey in the face as his shaking arms supported his ailing body.

"It is …." Leigh sighed heavily, pulling back from the microscope, arching her back to stretch out the kinks in her spine, careful not to lose her balance on the rickety stool, a deep frowning marring her brow.

"But as I was trying to explain, it's like nothing I've seen before …." She rubbed absently at her chin with her right index finger now.

"Yes, it has characteristics of other viruses I've seen, but it's not a perfect match for anything I've ever worked with, and believe me, at the CDC I got to work with pretty much every nasty little thing they had …." She coughed to clear her throat and realized that it was feeling a little sore again, as she returned her attention to the microscope.

"I've never seen anything quite like this before, Hawke," she leaned in closer and stared at the microscopic organism floating around on the glass slide until the image blurred and she had to pull away to squint tears out of her eyes.

"The cell structure of this virus …. It has these tiny strands running off it, like hooks. I've seen similar cell structures, but nothing quite like this one," she explained patiently, pausing to take a small breath, drawing back slightly from the microscope, again stretching her spine and rubbing her tired eyes.

Her back, neck and shoulder muscles were screaming after spending hours huddled over the microscope in the same position, and she had been staring at the slide for so long she was going cross eyed.

"Right now, Hawke, I'm not even sure this thing originated on the earth …." Leigh spoke absently, without thinking, but as she took her hands away from her tired, sore eyes, she immediately caught Hawke's startled reaction to her words, as his jaw dropped and he stared back at her with open mouthed astonishment.

_**O**__**ops ….**_

_**Oh well ….**_

_**At last, there, she had said it!**_

_**Finally.**_

She had had her suspicions for some time now, so why not put them out there for him to deal with?

And bless, him, Hawke did not disappoint her with his reaction.

"You think this thing came from outer space?"

Stringfellow Hawke choked out, aghast, gaping at Leigh Roland incredulously, finding it harder and harder to move air in and out of his aching, congested lungs. He was exhausted just from trying to breathe and his body was beginning to fail him. He had barely slept and his mind was in turmoil, worried about his old friend, feeling helpless and ineffectual.

_**After hours of pouring over that wretched microscope,**_ this_** was what Leigh had come up with!**_

_**Was she serious!**_

"I don't know!" Leigh snapped irritably and pulling away from the microscope ran her hand roughly over her face.

"You think it's possible that out there, in space, the meteorite could have come into contact with some kind of contagion?" Hawke speculated now, trying to keep a lid on his temper, but Leigh could tell from the derisory note in his voice that he wasn't really buying into the theory.

She couldn't really blame him.

It was kind of way out there, and off the wall, for a well grounded and down to earth bloke like him to get his head around, but, it fit the evidence, and let's face it, he hadn't come up with anything spectacular to account for what had happened here at Whiteout.

"Right now, Hawke, I don't know anything for sure …." She confessed forlornly. "I'm stumped. If you can think of something …."

"I didn't think that anything could survive in the freezing vacuum of space, Leigh?" Hawke pointed out in scathing tones.

_**Did she really believe this cockamamie theory?**_

_**With all her years of medical training and experience,**_ this_** was what they were left with?**_

"You're applying earthly constraints to something that might turn out to be as alien as little green men from Mars!" She retaliated sharply, and Hawke suddenly realized that she was indeed being deadly serious.

_**Oh hell ….**_

"Hawke, I've lived up here for long enough to know that life will find a way to survive in even the most impossible circumstances. It might not exactly be what you and I would consider to be 'life' in conventional terms, but working with Shane I've seen microscopic organisms that thrive in the deepest, coldest darkest part of the ocean …."

_**It**__**s life Jim, but not as we know it ….**_

Hawke suddenly had a mental image of Spock from old reruns of Star Trek waving his tricorder over a chunk of rock and reminding Captain Kirk that the forms of 'life' they encountered on their journey through space had very different definitions and appearances.

_**That**_ was a TV show. _**This **_was real life, and real lives were very much in danger.

"The more we explore this planet, the oceans, the more we realize that there are organisms that can survive without light, or oxygen or even heat," she pointed out in a weary voice. "Even down here on good old terra firma that makes them pretty alien to us, so who knows what we'll discover when we finally take that last giant leap out into deep space?"

Stringfellow Hawke had to silently concede that put like that, Leigh was indeed making a valid point, but he was a man who had always had his feet planted firmly on the ground, and he had been working on a theory too, one which was much more down to earth.

"Could it be man made?" Hawke once again put forward his own theory, worn out and highly contentious to Leigh Roland as it was.

"_**What?**_"

"Could it have been man made? Constructed, grown, manufactured, in a lab?"

"We're not back to that again …."

"I don't mean specifically _**here**_, at Whiteout, Leigh. It could have been produced in the Soviet Union, China, even somewhere else in the good old US of A …." Hawke speculated. "Frankly Leigh, right now I don't care where …. I'm just asking if it is possible that this thing was made by human hands, in a lab some place?"

"Sure, I guess …." Leigh sighed and raised her shoulders up around her ears in exasperation and in a bid to relieve the ache making its self known there now.

"Ok …. Then, what if the thing that the scientists found out there on the ice, wasn't a meteorite, Leigh? I'm not denying that that is probably what they thought they saw …. But …. What if what they actually found came from a little closer to home than deep space? What if it was one of the many satellites that orbit the earth?"

Leigh Roland watched Hawke's eyes light up with something other than fever, as he took the idea and ran with it.

"What if, someone, somehow managed to sneak something nasty up there, on board a communications satellite, or a spy satellite?" He pondered out loud now, speaking slowly because he was still very breathless, as he organized his thoughts.

"What if something went wrong and it came back to earth unexpectedly, too soon and out of control, and hit land beyond the reach of those who sent it up there?"

Leigh listened to what he had to say, and began to realize that it wasn't really so far fetched as she had first thought.

No more far fetched than a meteorite carrying some alien virus falling to earth and infecting the scientists.

And if it was true, the idea terrified the hell out of her.

What was the world coming to when human beings set out to deliberately create something so vile and lethal?

As if there weren't enough things that already existed in nature, new things that they were discovering all the time that they still had no idea how to beat, without creating something so devastating and unleashing it on the world.

"Do you realize what you are saying, Hawke? Christ, if someone actually engineered this thing …. If someone was actually dumb enough to send something like that into orbit, they must have considered it a weapon of last resort."

Hawke watched as a shudder ran down her spine.

"If you intend to release something like that into the atmosphere, then specific targets be buggered, Hawke. Whoever sent it up there would have to know that once it was deployed, and it was in the atmosphere, the winds and the jet stream would spread it around the whole world, indiscriminately, wiping out everyone on the planet! It would be utter madness, Hawke!"

"But, it is possible …." Hawke pressed her.

_**Of course it was possible ….**_

Leigh admitted silently to herself.

They lived in a crazy world where the balance of power was precarious at best, and all it would take would be one lunatic with access to just the right ear, one fanatic with a righteous cause and the right kind of funding …. One despot who did not give a damn about how many died ….

_**In this mad, paranoid**__**, cynical and unjust world they were living in, anything was possible.**_

"I guess …." Leigh conceded, a tremor in her voice now, as she realized the implications of what she was thinking.

"If _**you're**_ crazy enough to come up with this lunatic bloody theory, then I guess someone else could have thought of it too …. And acted on it …."

"So, all we have to do is find out which bunch of sick maniacs put it up there in the first place, and get them to send us the antidote!" Hawke declared his sapphire blue eyes wide and glittering triumphantly now.

"Assuming, of course, there is one …." Leigh mumbled under her breath, not wanting to burst his bubble, but, sick as he was, it wasn't affecting his bat like hearing.

"What?" Hawke regarded her, eyes bulging out of his grey face now as though he just could not comprehend what she had suggested. "Why wouldn't there be an antidote?" He demanded gruffly.

"I don't want to be a killjoy …. But …. Think about it, Hawke. I just told you it would have to have been considered a weapon of last resort …."

"But you'd be stupid not to create an antidote. It would be like suicide …."

"Genocide, actually."

"You'd be killing yourself, and your own damned population!"

"Sure, but maybe if we were on the brink of total annihilation, some people might think it more preferable than being incinerated by a nuclear warhead, or dying of radiation sickness …."

"My God …."

Stringfellow Hawke stared at her in horror, trying to get his mind to accept something so radical and awesome and dismiss it as preposterous, but Leigh could see that he knew in his heart that she was right.

Totally crazy as it was, it was a distinct possibility that someone would consider that wiping out the human race with a bio-weapon was more humane than exposing them to nuclear obliteration.

To some sick, bitter, twisted minds, able to see that there would be neither victory nor defeat, that a nuclear war would mean the end of the whole human race, the madness the virus inspired, the violence, the slow, tortured, agonized death it wrought in its victims would be more satisfying than going out in a blaze of glory ….

A small, if Pyrrhic victory.

If the human race had reached such a crisis point, how did it matter the manner of its annihilation?

Dead was dead.

"Yeah …."

"So ….." She saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as Hawke swallowed down hard, digesting what she had said. "We're screwed …."

"Yeah …." Leigh sighed raggedly. "That about sums it up …."

"Ah shoot …." He borrowed one of Dominic Santini's favorite phrases and hung his head briefly.

"Look Hawke suppose you're right, and this thing was man made and was sent up there in to space by the Russians, or the Chinese, or Dr Bloody No …. I don't even know if what I am looking at is the pure form of this thing, or if it has mutated …."

"What difference does it make?" Hawke snarled.

"All the difference in the world, mate. If this thing was man made, the scientists who created it might have engineered it to produce specific symptoms," Leigh explained wearily, pausing to clear her throat again, and now Hawke was regarding her with concern in his big blue eyes.

"They would probably have tried to make it act in a similar way to any other natural virus, say like the common cold, to divert any suspicion that it was anything other than an aberration of nature. I don't know what their original intentions were. I don't know if they intended this thing to instill violent tendencies, or, if while it was out there in space, it somehow mutated and the new strain of virus is responsible for the madness and the violence and the drive to kill …."

Hawke listened very carefully to what she was saying and realized that she had a point.

"And if this thing has mutated once, it could again …. And if this thing is man made, and they did produce an antidote, there's no way of knowing if it will work on a mutated strain …."

Leigh's voice trailed away then, and Hawke could see from the expression on her face that she was thinking that if that was the case, there was no time for anyone to come up with another antidote.

"Ok Leigh, I get your point, but, although Dom and I are getting sicker, you don't seem to be …." Hawke pointed out rationally now, refusing to admit that they were defeated, although he was beginning to suspect that Leigh too was succumbing to the first symptoms of the contagion, that cough being a new development.

Leigh knew that Hawke had a very good point there.

She had already worked that out for herself, but she was still no closer to working out how or why the virus didn't seem to be affecting her as badly as the men.

"That's the only good thing. If it has mutated, then the new form of the virus doesn't seem to work so quickly, or cause the madness …."

_**For which they were all very thankful!**_

"But Dom's still dying!" Hawke spluttered, choking back another deep cough.

"I know, Hawke …. But give me a break here! I need to think …. I know we're close, but. … Look, we know that Sven was the original carrier, and that Shane was probably the first person he infected, and Shane didn't go through the violence or madness stage of the disease, because he got too sick too quickly, and he died before the disease got to that point," she reminded, fighting back a cough.

"I don't know who was next to get infected or how it affected them because although they all have the virus in their blood, some have a greater viral load than others, and I couldn't take samples of brain tissue from any of them, only blood and urine and soft tissue samples," she let out a ragged breath.

"We're still missing seven people, so they must have been capable of rational thinking and were physically able to get away from here, so, maybe, as this thing gets transmitted, it gets weaker? As it replicates its self in a new host, it loses something of its potency …. Maybe the longer it is airborne without finding a new host it becomes less virulent? Maybe that is why you and Dominic have skipped the madness stage too? Hell I don't know …. I'm grasping at straws, Hawke …. I'm sorry …."

"I know, Leigh …. I'm sorry. The last thing you need is me grouching at you. It's hard enough to think as it is …." Hawke conceded. "And believe me, honey; I'm glad you're not getting sick …."

"But why?" She finished the sentence for him, letting out a deep sigh, and Hawke nodded. "I don't know …. But …. If I were to take a wild guess …. Blind dumb luck?" She forced a weak smile now.

"Or, maybe something as crazy as being female, or Australian …. Or having Chicken Pox …."

Suddenly there was a startled look on Leigh's face as her voice trailed away, and this made Stringfellow Hawke frown.

"Leigh?" He prompted, watching as her amber eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped open. "Leigh?"

"Dammit, that's it! It's got to be!"

She had thought about it before, fleetingly, but had not really given the notion much credence because at the time, she hadn't had enough information about the virus she was dealing with.

Now, the more she thought about, the more it made sense.

Well, about as much sense as any thing else did at the moment.

Hawke was right.

She hadn't appeared to be getting sick, at least in the same way as he and Dominic Santini were.

She still had the classic Chicken Pox rash, although that wasn't quite so itchy, and yes, she was irritable, bone weary, and still had a slightly elevated temperature, and now she had this irritating little tickle in the back of her throat and the beginnings of a headache, a nagging little ache behind her eyes, which she had attributed to exhaustion, lack of food and the poor lighting she was having to work in in sickbay, staring at the slides under the microscope. However, after all that she had been through in the last few days, she felt remarkably well, all things considered, but she had a sneaking suspicion that all that was about to change.

Still, the men had been sick for three days already, and if she was only just starting to experience the same symptoms, there had to be a reason.

Perhaps it was crazy, but no crazier than Hawke's Looney Tunes theory about a Russian bio-weapon falling to earth in a satellite ….

Aside from gender, it was the only thing that was significantly different about herself and Hawke and Santini.

She had been well and truly infected with the VZV Chicken Pox virus when she got here to Whiteout, and perhaps that was what had afforded her a little extra protection.

She gaped at Hawke now, silently calling herself a fool a thousand times over for not realizing the significance earlier.

"What?" Hawke demanded in frustration, watching the play of emotions on her face, unable to stop him self from wondering if things had just got better, or worse?

"Maybe the VZV, Chicken Pox, is somehow affecting the virus, making it less effective in me?" Leigh speculated out loud now.

"Is that possible?" Hawke regarded her hopefully now.

"Right now, Hawke, anything is possible …."

"But you said Dom and I had been exposed to Chicken Pox too …." He reminded, desperately wanting her theory to be viable, but not wanting to raise his hopes too quickly.

"Yes, but you haven't started to show symptoms yet. I was symptomatic before I was exposed to this weird virus, Hawke, and that could just be what is making the difference. Maybe the two viruses just can't exist in the same environment …." She pondered aloud.

"Meaning?" Hawke pressed.

"Meaning, maybe good old Chicken Pox is beating the crap out of this mystery bug!" She grinned. "Or slowing it down, at least …."

"And?" Hawke pressed again as he realized that instead of being elated, there was now a crestfallen expression on Leigh's elfin face. "Leigh?"

"Look Hawke, if we were in a fully equipped lab …. With electrical power and the right equipment, it would be a simple job for me to extract antibodies from my blood and create a serum to inject into you and Dominic. I'm not saying it would be a cure, but it might help to slow the virus down and buy some time until we could produce an antidote …. But …."

Her voice trailed away and she lowered her eyes from him now, her shoulders sagging as the implications of what she was saying finally hit home, to both of them.

She had solved the puzzle, but was no closer to helping them fight the disease.

"But we're stuck at the top of the world with no power and precious little equipment …." Hawke summed up for her.

"I'm sorry, Hawke …. There's nothing more that I can do."

Now there was a look of sick horror on her face and genuine sorrow and regret in her eyes and her voice when she looked back up at him.

"I thought …." She whispered.

"I know," Hawke whispered back.

"I guess all we can do is sit back and wait for nature to take its course …."

"Damn …."

"I'm sorry, Hawke …."

Leigh slid off the stool and came over to Hawke, throwing her arms around him carefully and burying her face in his shoulder and he automatically found himself wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close.

"Dammit, there has to be something …. Something more that I can do …. There has to be …."

There was anger and deep frustration in her voice, and Hawke began to comprehend just how much she had been concentrating on finding an answer to the mystery, and that she had given little thought to what she would do if in finding that answer it did not actually help to solve the problem.

She had kept her mind occupied with the puzzle, not on the outcome, and not for one second had she contemplated that even knowing the answer, she would still be helpless.

She felt as though she had failed him and Dominic, and Hawke knew that he had to make her see that it was not so, for although he too was vexed and deeply disappointed with the solution, she had nothing to blame herself for.

They were all guilty of pinning their hopes on her finding a way to beat this thing, and Hawke knew how much pressure that had put on Leigh.

They were all equally guilty of placing all their faith in medical science and ignoring the possibility that there simply was nothing to be done to help them.

Leigh had nothing to reproach her self about.

She had not failed.

"It's ok, Leigh …. You did your best …." His hand came up to cradle the back of her head as she leaned into him, and he felt her body shaking with silent sobs. "It's not your fault …." Hawke assured her in low tones, stroking the hair on the back of her head and trying to keep the note of disappointment out of his voice.

It was the truth.

She had worked her tail off trying to find a solution to their dilemma and he couldn't blame her that in finding the answer there was still no prize, no reward at the end of it.

"How long, Leigh? How long before you would expect Dom and me to show symptoms of Chicken Pox?" Hawke croaked gruffly, gently easing Leigh away from him to gaze down into her ashen, tear streaked face, reaching out with noticeably shaking fingers to push a tuft of her short, spiky blonde hair back behind her ear.

"It has an incubation period of between ten and twenty one days," Leigh mumbled as tears continued to roll unhindered down her cheeks. "If we're really lucky, you guys were exposed when we first met, on Monday, so I guess that means another four or five days before you and Dom become symptomatic …."

The stricken look on Hawke's face made Leigh's heart constrict in her chest as she realized that he was standing there wondering if Dominic Santini actually had that long, and she had no answer for him.

That would pretty much depend on Dominic Santini himself.

She could make him comfortable, keep pumping him full of fluids and antibiotics and anti pyretic drugs, but the strength and determination to fight and the will to live, had to come from Santini himself, and Leigh knew that that could make all the difference in the end.

She also had no idea of the cycle of the disease. She knew that it had a very short incubation period, but she had no idea how long the virus had taken to wipe out the scientists at Whiteout. She remembered Jan Poulsen's wristwatch and the date and time when it had stopped. Tuesday 21st February at five o'clock, but that did not tell her when he had died.

According to Dr De Wit's daily log, the scientists had seen whatever it was that fell from the sky on Monday 13th February, so that gave her a time frame of about nine days from infection to the time that she and Hawke and Santini had arrived at Whiteout Station, but she had no idea of the chain of events in between.

"There's always a chance that there is an antidote, Leigh …." Hawke offered in a low voice, but again, he knew that it was a long shot.

They were running out of time.

If they survived through this latest round of storms and were able to contact Knightsbridge, if it turned out that his theory was correct, by the time someone accepted responsibility and agreed to hand over an antidote, if one even existed, it would probably be too late.

The woman in his arms seemed to find no comfort in his words, sobbing even harder, as she clung to him, and Hawke knew that she was thinking the same thing that he was.

Hawke felt a wave of fury rush through him.

He was damned if he was just going to sit back and die.

There had to be something that they could do to help themselves ….

He was a fighter, not a quitter.

This wasn't the end, it couldn't be ….

There had to be another option.

_**Of course there!**_

And he was the only one who could do it.

And with that realization came acceptance of what he had to do, and along with it he felt a wave of resignation flood through him.

"Leigh, we have to make contact with Knightsbridge. We have to let them know what we have discovered and we have to get Archangel to contact the Russians …. Not just for an antidote, but to confirm if their people did rescue Greg and the others, and to find out if they are still alive …."

It was a faint hope, but if one of the scientist from Whiteout had survived, perhaps the scientists at Knighstbridge could use their blood to produce an antidote ….

Leigh Roland responded by wrestling herself out of his embrace and staring up at him in incredulity.

"You're not thinking of trying to fly in this weather?"

"I don't see that we have any other choice, Leigh …."

"It's madness, Hawke! The weather is vile, visibility practically nil, and even if you managed to get that ruddy helicopter up off the ground, you'd pass out at the controls in less than five minutes!" She protested, terror in her wide amber eyes now. "I can't let you do it, Hawke …."

"You can't stop me, Leigh," Hawke told her gruffly now, his tone indicating that he was all too well aware of the risks involved, but that he would brook no argument.

"I don't have a choice. Heads I don't live, tails I die …. But I'll be damned if I don't go out fighting …. I know it's a long shot, Leigh, but if we don't try, we'll never know …."

"You're crazy …." She let out a long, ragged breath, her eyes boring into him as she realized that he was being deadly serious.

"But I must be even bloody crazier, because if you think I'm letting you go on your own, you're very much mistaken."

"No, Leigh …."

"Shut up, Hawke. As you so eloquently put it, either way, I'm just as dead as you and Dominic."

"I can't ask you to do this …."

"You didn't ask. I volunteered …."

"Leigh …."

"You're right, Hawke. We have to try to get help from outside, because if we don't we're dead anyway. I for one have no intention of going quietly," she told him, lifting her chin in defiance now, and despite the seriousness of their situation and what lay ahead of them, Hawke found himself smiling softly down at her.

"And you don't strike me as the kind of bloke who would just sit back and take it on the chin …. So, let's get on with it …."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Hawke arched an eyebrow sardonically now, genuinely touched by the fire he could see in her eyes. He knew that she meant what she was saying. She wasn't just trying to make him feel better.

Leigh frowned now, lifting her right hand to scratch absently at her right earlobe.

"Its pitch black out there, and blowing a gale …." Hawke reminded, knowing that she had been so absorbed in her task she had obviously lost track of time.

"Lets get a good night's sleep under our belts and you can dose me up with Aspirin and antibiotics and whatever else you think might help, build up my strength for the morning …."

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" Leigh continued to frown, wondering where the day had gone and how it had gotten away from her, and trying to recall the last time she had left sickbay other than to check on Dominic Santini and to use the bathroom.

In answer to her question Hawke raised one shoulder and pulled a face.

"When did you?" Hawke countered softly.

"I guess it wasn't that important, to either of us," Leigh conceded softly, but Hawke could see that she was still frowning, distracted, as she began to tidy away the bits and pieces she had been using at her work station with trembling hands, and he wondered if she was still beating herself up about her perceived failure.

"Leigh …." He took a small step toward her, having to hang on to the counter because his legs suddenly felt as weak as water, and when she turned back to face him, he reached out with his free hand to gently cup her slightly flushed cheek.

"I'm sorry I got you into this, Hawke …." She spoke in a low, breathy voice, her eyes over bright with tears.

"I'm glad you did," Hawke moved his hand to her neck and applied a little pressure, drawing her closer and Leigh did not resist. "This is what I do, Leigh. Hell, if it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else …. Some place else …." He drew in a long, ragged breath now. "I'm so glad that we had this time, Leigh …."

"Me too …. Dammit Hawke, it's so unfair …." She let out a loud broken sob and leaned into his body once more. "All these years I thought you were dead …" She gave him a quick, hard squeeze, dragging in a ragged, wet breath.

"Then to find you …. Alive and well. I can't lose you again …. I can't …. I've already lost Greg …." She sobbed softly into his chest. "And I loved him, really I did …." She insisted, and Hawke briefly found himself wondering whom she was trying to convince, him, or her self ….

"But you were the first …." Her voice was so low now and muffled by his clothes, he was having to strain to hear her. "And even if he is alive, I'm not sure that's enough any more ….. I loved you so much, Hawke, so much …. I still do …." She confessed on a loud, heart breaking sob. "And I don't think I can watch you die …."

Leigh Roland was suddenly so over come by convulsive sobs, she could no longer speak, and knowing that he had no words of comfort and reassurance for her, Hawke gathered her close, overwhelmed by the power of her grief, wrapping both of his arms around her tightly, leaning into her body because his own legs were so weak he suddenly needed her support to remain standing, and silently waited for the storm to pass.

Leigh cried for a long time, her face buried in his chest, sobbing loudly and brokenly for several minutes before she calmed a little and the sobs became infrequent little whimpers and silent shudders.

Stringfellow Hawke knew that in part, this was a very old pain and sorrow, grief that she had never expressed, over his alleged death almost twelve years ago, but it was also about their present situation, the frustration and disappointment she felt about not finding a way to save them, and, he suspected that there was also an element of shame and guilt too.

Leigh had finally come face to face with the harsh reality that, whilst she had accepted Gregory Chandler into her life, she had never really relinquished Stringfellow Hawke from her heart, and it was tearing her apart.

Hawke remained silent, cradling her shuddering body close to his own.

There was nothing that he could say that would help Leigh, nothing that would comfort her.

What could he say?

That if they made it out of this mess, when this was over and done with, maybe they could pick up where they left off thirteen years ago, see each other, try to make a future together?

He loved her, yes, but Hawke knew that he had nothing more than that to offer Leigh Roland.

And certainly not a future.

A future?

How could there be a future, when he only lived for today and allowed himself to look forward only so far as tomorrow?

He could not, would not make any kind of commitment to a long term relationship while he was embroiled in his work for The Firm, with all its secrets and lies, always disappearing without a word, never knowing if he would make it back in one piece ….

If he would make it back at all.

And then there was his obsession with finding St John.

He could not let go of the belief that his older brother was still alive, and that one day, they would be reunited.

His life was filled with danger and intrigue and deceit and uncertainty.

He could not ask any woman to share his life. He could not reasonably expect any woman to live like that.

Not even Leigh Roland, who had now seen something of what he did and who might be a little more tolerant and understanding.

Even if she was prepared to accept his way of life, Hawke knew that it just would not work.

There was just too much of a gulf between them.

Too much history.

Too much pain.

And too much sorrow, for not even the shared grief over the loss of their sons was strong enough to bring them together, and, he feared, would ultimately drive them apart, for he could never really know what it had felt like to feel the life stir inside her body, to hope and dream about the child's future, and then have it all destroyed so tragically.

Even if he had been there with her, Hawke suspected that he could never really have hoped to understand ….

It was simply too late.

They had both grown up and moved on.

They were both different people now.

It was a worn out old cliché, but it was true.

Sometimes love just wasn't enough.

Leigh didn't need to hear false hopes and empty promises from him, and so he let her cry herself out, hoping that she would feel some relief when it was over, and when at last she grew quiet, Hawke gently put her away from him, and using his thumb, he gently stroked away the last of her tears from her flushed cheek.

"I'm sorry …." Leigh dropped her head and sniffed loudly, her voice rough and thick with emotion. "I probably shouldn't have said any of that …." She raised her head once more and her expression was unreadable, so many emotions at war on her lovely elfin face it tore at Hawke's heart.

"C'mon, Leigh, you're exhausted. Let's go check on Dominic and then get a good night's sleep …"

Hawke deliberately made no comment about her remark, as he slipped his arm loosely around her shoulder and coaxed her toward the door, and she held on tightly to him too, each supporting the other as they made their way slowly and silently back to the recreation room.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Nine_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Sixteen – Sunday, February 26th 1984._**

**_Approximately 10.30am local time._**

Leigh Roland let out a hearty sigh as she stared hypnotically out of the window at the endless swirling cascade of snow outside and felt the cold hand of dread closing around her heart.

She had been awake since the wee small hours, checking regularly on Dominic Santini, who remained stable, but still very poorly, and listening to Stringfellow Hawke's fever induced night terrors and labored breathing.

Restless, her throat hot and raw, feeling feverish and claustrophobic, her heart racing and her mind in turmoil, unable to sleep, Leigh had pulled a chair up to the window and draping a couple of blankets around her shoulders, sat in thoughtful silence, watching the crystalline snowflakes tumble and twirl in their strange and beautiful dance, as the storm raged outside.

Despite her preoccupation, Leigh was aware of Stringfellow Hawke's restless tossing and turning, his occasional grunt and murmur and the odd louder shout of anxiety, her heart heavy in her chest, watching the storm grow worse not better, and she found herself praying that the dawn would not break, for this was one day that she wished she could keep at bay.

Of course, it had been a futile prayer, and as she was forced to watch the inevitable fingers of dawn light creep across the compound, Leigh grew more and more anxious, conscious of what Hawke intended to do and very much aware that no matter how stupid or reckless or dangerous it was, she would not be able to talk him out of it.

Nothing would ground him, not even her insistence on medical grounds.

Hawke was willing to risk his life to save her and Dominic Santini.

It was a sacrifice that he was willing to make.

She also knew that she would not let him go alone.

That was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

She had brazenly told him that she did not think that she could watch him die, and by that she had meant that she could not watch him die a long, slow, lingering and possibly painful death due to this wretched contagion ….

To then be left to face a similar fate alone.

_**So what, you'd rather go out in a blaze of glory too?**_

Then she had told him that she would not let him go up in the helicopter alone, because the idea of him dying alone broke her heart.

_**Damned if you do …. Damned if you don't ….**_

_**Heads you don't win, tails you lose ….**_

_**Look on the bright side kiddo; at least it will be over quickly!**_

_**Even better, maybe nothing bad will happen at all and nobody will have to die!**_

_**Talk about being a cockeyed optimist!**_

She did not know what she would do if something did go wrong up there.

She wasn't a pilot and could do nothing practical to intervene should disaster strike, but she could not help feeling that her being there might make a difference, might make Hawke take just that little bit more care, because he would not want her death on his conscience, nor Dominic Santini's either, for it they did crash and were killed, where would that leave his old friend?

Leigh did not want to die, but she knew one way or another, it was out of her hands now.

Inevitable.

She had accepted her fate, but she did still have a choice in the manner of her going.

To die quickly, with Hawke in that magnificent helicopter he called Airwolf, crashing to earth when the rotor froze solid and dense low cloud and the blizzard made it impossible to keep sight of the horizon, and the wind tossed them around like a paper airplane in a tornado, or, sick and exhausted, Hawke passed out at the controls.

Or die slowly, inside Whiteout Station, the last man standing, alone and terrified after having watched both Santini and Hawke die first ….

Of course, she did not doubt Hawke's bravery or his skills as a pilot, but this was no stunt, and Leigh was all too aware of the dangers of using helicopters in these kinds of climatic conditions. That was why they did not rely on choppers to supply the station on a regular basis. The rotors quickly iced over, high winds made them unstable, making it an almost impossible task for the pilot to sustain trim and torque and maintain straight and level flight and for these reasons, when the weather deteriorated they spent more time on the ground than in the air.

Hawke was undoubtedly a skillful and experienced pilot, but sick as he obviously now was, and exhausted too, he might not have quite the same control and quick reflexes as he would normally rely on.

_**Cynic.**_

_**Hawke doesn't want to die either, drongo …. **_

_**He's fighting to stay alive, and to save other lives too!**_

She told herself sternly, but she could not shake the dread that was settling all around her like a shroud.

Stringfellow Hawke was both stubborn and determined, to the point of self sacrifice, and no matter how bad the weather, no matter the dangers involved, he would try to take the beautiful chopper up, because he knew as well as she did that making contact with the outside world was their one last chance for survival.

Unless she could think of some other way to get the job done.

_**And if you can't?**_

_**Then I might just have to resort to **__**slugging him, or sedating him until I **_can _**come up with something!**_

She had been sitting there, staring out of the window at the bleak, colorless world outside, praying for some miracle, that the weather would suddenly clear so that at least there would be one less danger to concern herself with, but continuing to note with deepening horror and fear that the sky was heavy with still more snow and that the low cloud had given way to a bank of thick fog which completely obliterated her view.

Staring so hard in fact that her eyes were burning and tears were streaming down her cheeks, as she wracked her brain and desperately sought a solution to her dilemma.

Trying to focus on something other than death.

At first, all she could think about was her confession to Hawke, that she still loved him, and the shame and guilt that had overwhelmed her ever since, because for a split second she had thought that she loved him more than Greg ….

She had wanted him to live more than she wanted her husband to live ….

It had only been for a split second, a moment of weakness brought about by frustration and disappointment and exhaustion, a rush of love and affection and the need to reach out to him, as she realized the futility of their situation, consumed by powerful emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Yet, even as she had clung on to him, Leigh had sensed Hawke's reticence, his deliberate withdrawal.

She had sensed that as far as Stringfellow Hawke was concerned, there was no future for the two of them, whether Gregory was alive or dead.

They had had their chance and there was no going back.

Whether Greg was alive or dead, all she could reasonably expect from Hawke in the future was his friendship.

She knew that he cared about her, but she also suspected that there was no place for her in his life.

She suspected that there was no place for any woman in Stringfellow Hawke's life, long term, and that was how he preferred it.

That way he only had to take responsibility for himself, placing no one else that he cared about in danger because of what he did for his government and his country.

After torturing herself for a little while, cursing her very human frailty at being able to love two men at the same time, in completely different ways, when for so long she had closed her heart off to any and all men, Leigh had realized that she still wasn't getting any where, that she was only making things more complicated and herself more miserable, and that there was no point in dwelling on it and making herself sick until she knew the outcome of this wretched mess.

What would she do if Greg was alive?

If she and Hawke and Dominic survived …. And Greg Chandler survived too?

What did the future hold for them?

Future?

There was no future beyond the next few hours!

What did it matter right now?

Leigh knew that these were things over which she had little or no control, and she also suspected that her fate was already sealed.

Everything was in the lap of the Gods ….

She was just feeling miserable, guilty and ashamed because she had made a fool of herself in front of Hawke.

But had she?

All she had done was told him the truth.

She did still love him, but that didn't mean that she expected anything from him. She had just needed him to know.

So why did it feel like she had betrayed her husband?

_**I'm sorry Greg ….**_

_**Please forgive me ….**_

_**I do love you ….**_

_**Just not in the same way as I have always loved him ….**_

_**And I think deep down inside, you always knew that ….**_

_**I'm sorry.**_

_**So sorry ….**_

_**I tried, but maybe it's just not in me to be able to love you as I love him.**_

_**I gave everything that I had, heart, body and soul, to him all those years ago, and I lost myself when I thought that I had lost him ….**_

_**I'm sorry ….**_

_**Thank you for loving me.**_

_**I wish I could have given you more …. Been a better wife ….**_

_**Oh God, I miss you so much ….**_

_**Please God, you're alive ….**_

_**It will be alright, when I see you again, my love ….**_

_**Everything will be alright.**_

_**Live, Greg ….**_

_**Live!**_

Leigh knew that part of the reason she was feeling so wretched was because she was physically and mentally exhausted and emotionally overwrought, focusing on the negative aspects of a future that she probably did not have, and so she had tried to pull herself together, telling herself that she had better damned well get her head out from up her backside and think of a way to make sure that she did have a future, she had told herself sternly.

She was not usually so fatalistic.

There had to be another way to achieve what they needed to do without anyone having to die in the process!

She was the only one who could look for other possibilities for Hawke had already made up his mind and accepted that there was no other choice.

So, Leigh had reigned in her wayward thoughts and pulled herself together, forcing herself to concentrate on the matter at hand, focusing her mind on the present situation and trying not to panic, pushing aside everything else and trying to get to the heart of the problem.

_**Think dammit!**_

_**And be more positive about it!**_

_**You are an intelligent woman …. You can find another way ….**_

_**You have to!**_

_**Start using your head, not your heart!**_

Closing her eyes, and taking in long, calming breaths Leigh had focused her mind at last.

First of all, she agreed with Stringfellow Hawke that they needed to make contact with the outside world, and to do that they had to get a radio signal to penetrate the storm front and the interference.

Leigh knew that it was Hawke's intention to take Airwolf up above the storm clouds, high enough up into the atmosphere where there was less chance of atmospheric conditions interfering with their transmission.

The greatest dangers in undertaking this mission came during take off and landing, when they would be at the full mercy of turbulence, zero visibility and freezing temperatures and Leigh could not help feeling that there must be a way to achieve their goal without having to place their lives in danger to do it.

For the last hour she had had a nagging feeling that the answer was there, just out of her grasp, and she was giving herself a headache, going round and around in circles.

Now, as she took in the appalling scene outside, the thick fog rolling across the compound and completely obliterating the view, Leigh again let out a heavy sigh and fought back a cough.

She could hear Hawke coughing on the other side of the room now and knew that he was rousing from sleep.

She knew that he would not be very pleased to find how late it was, but she had felt it best to let him sleep in, knowing that he needed the rest, and in the vain hope of delaying the inevitable, but now she had to accept that Hawke was set on this course of action, and she had to keep her word.

She could be forgiven for having second thoughts.

She was a survivor. A fighter not a quitter. She'd proved that all these years, hadn't she? Hanging on by her fingertips when it would have been so easy to just let go ….

She wasn't ready to die.

_**Too bad, kid. You picked a helluva day for it!**_

Leigh found herself smiling at her grim humor, and the irony of it.

Sunny days were meant for celebrations, like weddings, and rainy days had always seemed more fitting for funerals ….

_**Snap out of it kiddo!**_

What difference did it make what the weather was doing?

There was never a good day to die, and dead was still dead.

Except that if the sun had been blazing in the sky and they had all been wallowing in tropical heat, she would not be faced with the prospect of dying today at all!

_**For crying out **__**loud woman, you've been here too long. You're obsessed with the ruddy weather!**_

_**Dottie and Eunice would be **__**so proud of you!**_

A ghost of a smile touched her lip then at the wry humor and her mind presented her with the image of the two ladies pouring over their weather radar and delighting over the storm clouds gathering all around them, tickled about cyclones and anti cyclones and wind velocities and pressure fronts and the like ….

_**Dottie and Eunice …. **_

Two women who had truly loved their work and whom had reveled in the challenging Arctic environment.

_**Dottie and Eunice …..**_

_**Her friends.**_

_**Surrogate mother and older sister ….**_

_**Dottie and Eunice ….**_

_**Lord, how she would miss them ….**_

Swallowing down the lump of grief that had suddenly formed in the back of her throat, and as they began to mist with tears, suddenly, Leigh's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open, as the spark of an idea ignited in her brain and she found that she was holding her breath, as the seed began to germinate and take shape in her mind.

A wave of excitement rolled through her, her heart racing erratically in her breast and her hands starting to shake, as she took the thought and expanded upon it, hardly daring to hope that she had hit on a solution to her dilemma.

_**Calm down, kid!**_

_**Don't get carried away ….**_

_**You don't even know if what you have in mind is actually possible ….**_

_**Slow down …. **_

_**Don't go off half cocked and give that stubborn jerk Hawke a chance to shoot you down in flames ….**_

Suddenly Leigh felt the weight of something on her shoulder and span around in her chair to find Stringfellow Hawke standing behind her. He looked dreadful, face drawn and grey and clammy, eyes over bright and red rimmed, as he blinked and rubbed the sleep away and smothered a yawn with his other hand.

"Morning …. You were miles away," he greeted her gruffly then stopped in the process of yawning once more, as he realized that there was something different about Leigh Roland this morning.

For one thing, she didn't look like a woman who was about to join him in this hare brained scheme to fly Airwolf over the storm.

He had expected her to be quiet and withdrawn, thoughtful and pensive, bravely facing what needed to be done as she had bravely faced every other challenge in her young life.

He had expected a little irritability and impatience, maybe a few tears ….

Stoicism.

Resignation.

However, what he saw now surprised Stringfellow Hawke.

Her hands were trembling, and she seemed a little breathless, but there was a bright twinkle of excitement in Leigh's fiery amber eyes, and the air around her was positively crackling.

"G'day mate …."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Hawke grumbled now, eyeing her curiously, unable to put his finger on what was different about her, except that she looked pretty damned pleased with herself.

"I thought you could use the rest …."

"No …. You thought if you let me sleep long enough it would be nearly dark again by the time I came too and I'd have no choice but to change my mind about taking Airwolf up," Hawke growled. "And before you ask, no, I haven't changed my mind."

"You know, Cobber, you're such a delight first thing in the morning!" Leigh tried valiantly to smother a grin, but failed miserably. "And stubborn to boot! If you hadn't noticed, there's an old fashioned pea souper out there that would make Jack The Ripper rub his hands together in glee," she pointed out, still smirking.

"I don't care. I don't see that we have any other choice …." Hawke reminded, glaring at her and wondering what she found so damned amusing, because to his way of thinking, there was absolutely nothing funny in their present situation.

Then he told himself not to be so hard on her.

Maybe this was her way of facing the challenge ahead.

The Brits had their damned stiff upper lip, so maybe the Aussie's had some sick sense of fatalistic humor?

"How about I get you some hot coffee and something to eat, and then we sit down and talk about this rationally?"

"I understand if you've changed your mind, Leigh," Hawke told her in a soft voice now, trying to be understanding about how she must be feeling at that moment. "I can't blame you. The risk should be mine and mine alone …."

"Oh for crying out loud man, why are you in such a hell fire rush to kill yourself?"

The familiar spark of anger and defiance were back in her lovely amber eyes, and this gave him renewed hope that she wasn't getting hysterical and that she wasn't about to go to pieces on him.

"I'm not! I'm just doing what has to be done, Leigh. It's hard enough without you making it harder …." He confessed on a long, ragged breath.

"And what if I told you that maybe there was another way?" She declared, glowering back at him. "What if we could get the job done without either one of us having to leave the ground?" She arched an eyebrow sardonically at him now, but could not hide the triumph and excitement in her teddy bear eyes.

"I'd say you were delirious, or delusional," he scoffed with a soft snort.

"Oh hell, I'm probably both! After all I fell in love with you all those years ago!" Leigh countered, but the anger in her eyes had diminished now and she was still looking very smug and self satisfied.

Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Hawke looked at Leigh Roland more closely and began to realize that she was serious.

"I know you're scared, Leigh, and that you'd do just about anything to stop me from flying today …."

"Right Cobber, especially when I don't think you really need to. Now, why don't you go and sit by the heater and I'll rustle up some coffee and some fruit, and then I'll come and check you over and while I'm doing that, I'll tell you what I have in mind."

Hawke stared down at her for a long moment, uneasy about her odd mood, but also more than a little curious to learn what she had come up with.

He wasn't a stupid man by any means, and if there was a plausible alternative to his suicide flight in Airwolf, then he knew that he should at least hear her out.

He wasn't reckless or foolhardy, and he didn't think that he was particularly brave either, so it had nothing to do with ego, and he knew that she was wrong about his being in a rush to die, but, he was prepared to do what needed to be done to ensure that the people that he loved survived this ordeal.

If it meant that he had to forfeit his life in the process, then so be it.

"How's Dom …."

"Don't change the subject, Hawke …."

Leigh shrugged off the blankets from around her shoulders, rose somewhat stiffly from her seat and stretched her body carefully.

"What harm can it do to hear my cockamamie idea? If you listen to what I've come up with and then at the end of it you still think it's dumb, you won't really have lost anything. The worst that can happen is that you'll have given yourself a little more time to wake up properly," she pointed out in reasonable tones, grinning at him softly now, amber eyes fizzing and sparkling with excitement. "And the weather chance to improve a little …."

"Do I have a choice?" Hawke growled.

Leigh Roland did not reply to his question, but continued to grin at him as she moved away from the chair and sauntered back across the recreation room toward the kitchen.

As he watched her go, Hawke realized that she was right.

What harm would it do to hear her out and find out why she looked so damned pleased with her self, after all, he really was in no rush to die, and she was right about his still being half asleep.

He cast a furtive, sideways glance out of the window at the murky bleached vista beyond and a shudder ran down his spine as he took in the dense fog rolling across the compound and the low, heavy cloud that hung like a shroud all around and the snow falling in a ceasless cascade.

It all looked the same and he suddenly felt very dizzy and disorientated as he realized that if he didn't know for certain that he was standing with his feet planted firmly on the ground, he wouldn't know which way was up or down.

_**She's right, buddy. It is madness to even think of taking off in this ….**_

_**There can only be one outcome ….**_

_**But …**_

_**At least **__**there is one small consolation …. You won't see it coming!**_

Hawke expelled a deep breath as he dragged his eyes away from the disturbing view beyond the window, feeling his heart racing in his chest, nevertheless, as he raised his chin slightly in defiance of his wayward thoughts.

It had to be done, and he was the only one who could do it.

That was an end to it.

He would need all his wits about him when he took Airwolf up, so a cup of strong black coffee would just hit the spot nicely, he told himself, as he returned his attention to watching Leigh Roland walk toward the kitchen, and, he silently conceded, it wouldn't hurt to hear her out while he drank it.

"Alright Leigh …. This had better be good …." He grumbled as he began to follow Leigh Roland across the room. "And not just another once upon a time fairy story …."

As she disappeared through the swing fire doors to the kitchen, Hawke changed direction and steered himself toward Dominic Santini's sleeping form, however as he drew close and pulled up a chair, he was both surprised and delighted to see that his old friend had his eyes open.

"Hey Dom, how ya doing?" Hawke asked as he drew the chair up closer and reached out for Santini's hand, however the older man roughly pulled his hand out of Hawke's grasp and indicated that he wanted the younger man to remove the oxygen mask from his face.

"No Dom, you need that stuff …." Hawke protested softly.

"Get it off of me …." Santini whispered on a deep wheezy breath. "Get it off of me!" He became insistent, waving one hand in Hawke's face and clawing at the mask covering his nose and mouth with the other, his face growing redder and redder, eyes glittering with fever and anger, until the younger man relented and gently pulled the face mask down below Santini's chin.

"How are you?" Hawke asked again with genuine concern, leaning a little closer to get a better look at his dear old friend's face. However, before he knew what was happening, Dominic Santini's gnarled old hand snaked out and was reaching out to grab the front of his thick oatmeal colored pullover, dragging him closer until their noses almost touched.

"I ain't dead yet …. And I'm glad you agreed to hear the girlie out, String," Santini wheezed, rheumy grey eyes blazing with anger and indignation as they bored into Hawke's fever flushed face.

"'Cos I was startin' to think I was going to have to drag my old, fat, _**sick**_ ass out of this bed and kick your butt all over this station to make you listen to reason!" Santini hissed.

"Take it easy Dom …."

"You can't possibly be thinking of flying in this kind of weather! Even in Airwolf. I'm real sorry to have to burst your little bubble there, but you don't leap tall buildings in a single bound. You're only human, String, and no matter how good you are, and remember, I _**know**_ just how good you are …. If you try to take even that magnificent Lady up in an Arctic storm, you _**will**_ crash and burn!" Santini rasped.

"Gee Dom, I guess you're hearing improved …." Hawke snarled, but he was secretly relieved and a little amused by his old friend's outburst. It was a good indicator that Dominic Santini still had some fight left in him after all.

"And it's so good to hear that everyone has such confidence in my flying skills," he added sarcastically.

"That's not what it's about, String, and you know it! Mamma Mia! Hey, kid, remember it ain't just _**your**_ life involved here. You take the Lady up and something bad happens to you up there, then you take away any chance that that girlie and I might have of getting out of this alive …." He paused to drag in a long, gasping breath before continuing.

"I also know that out of some misguided sense of loyalty, she wouldn't let you do something that dumb alone, so if something bad does happen, guess what, that leaves me here, all on my lonesome, to die a long, lingering and maybe unnecessary death. Now even I know you're not that selfish!"

"Dom, I had to make a decision based on the facts that I had at the time, and last night I didn't think that there was any other choice. We're out of time and options," Hawke pointed out, gently prising Santini's fingers from the material of his pullover and sitting down at last, breathless and wheezing, dizzy and fighting back another coughing fit, knowing that his old friend wasn't fairing any better himself, and that his fears for his young friend were genuine.

"If Leigh gives me some new facts, Dom, then I might be prepared to revise my decision …."

"You look like hell, String," Santini observed, his expression softening just a little now. "You do know it would be insane to take her up, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Dom …." Hawke confirmed, suspecting that his old friend was testing him to make sure that his reason wasn't being clouded by the effects of the fever and the virus.

"And under normal circumstances you couldn't pay me enough to do something so irresponsible and reckless, but these aren't normal circumstances Dom …."

At that moment, Leigh Roland forced open the swing fire doors leading from the kitchen and wrestled her self and a tray loaded with crockery and a pot of fresh coffee through the swing fire doors into the recreation room, her eyes scanning the room for Hawke and finding him seated beside the now conscious Dominic Santini.

"Hey, look who's back with us," she grinned, depositing the tray on the nearest laminated table and hurried over toward Hawke and Santini. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better, doc …" Santini confessed raggedly, gasping for air like a fish out of water. "But like I was telling the young fella here, I ain't dead yet!" He threw a pointed and meaningful look in Stringfellow Hawke's direction.

"So I see …." Leigh smiled benevolently as she started reaching out to slip the oxygen mask back over the older man's nose and mouth.

"And I don't plan to miss another meal …." Santini reached out to push her hand away as he choked out, smirking as he fought back another fit of coughing, stilling Leigh's hand for just a moment

"So why don't you bring that coffee and whatever delights you managed to rustle up for breakfast over here and tell us why you look like the cat that ate the canary."

"My pleasure, if you promise to suck on this for a little while longer …." She slid the mask back over Santini's face and turned to give Stringfellow Hawke a soft, reassuring smile as she then took the older man's pulse, finding that it was a lot faster than she might like, an indication that it was getting harder and harder for him to breathe, even with the oxygen, and that he was getting more and more tired.

Hawke watched as Leigh retrieved her blood pressure testing equipment from her little black medical bag, deliberately keeping her expression guarded, and then turned to him with a thermometer in her hand.

"And you, be a good bloke and suck on this for me …." She told Hawke without preamble slipping the thermometer between his lips as he opened his mouth to protest, or ask the question she could see burning in his eyes about whether Dominic Santini was better, or worse.

Hawke let out a deep sigh of frustration but did not offer any further protest as he watched Leigh take Dominic Santini's blood pressure, and then his temperature too.

Dominic was awake for now, and that had to be a good sign, didn't it?

Leigh was silently relieved to find that Dominic Santini's temperature had leveled out since the last time she had checked him over. Obviously the ice blanket therapy had helped. She didn't think that his fever had spiked yet, and it certainly hadn't broken, but for now, she was more concerned about his labored breathing.

Hawke too silently endured the same procedure of pulse and blood pressure testing before Leigh finally removed the thermometer from his lips.

"Well?" He demanded when she remained silent, noting down the readings on the medical charts she was keeping on their progress, her face an emotionless mask.

"Your blood pressure is up and so is your temperature. I'd say something has gotten you a little excited," Leigh smirked, covering her concern for him.

The increases in blood pressure and temperature were only slight and certainly not life threatening, but they were a strong indication that his body too was weakening and beginning to lose the battle against this damned contagion, and she knew that Hawke had to know it too, as she watched the irritation dance in his fever bright blue eyes.

He had to feel as bad as he looked ….

And still he persisted with this plan to take the helicopter up ….

Suddenly, Leigh Roland knew that it was even more important that she talk him out of this madness.

"I'm all agog …." Hawke drawled sarcastically.

"Are you always this charming first thing in the morning?"

"Not all of us can be a little ray of sunshine, at least not until after our first shot of coffee …."

"Is that a hint? Your wish is my command. Coming right up."

Leigh packed away her medical equipment and then returned to where she had left the breakfast tray on a table on the other side of the room. She poured out three cups of scalding hot coffee and then leaving the pot on the table, carried the tray back to Hawke and Santini, Hawke graciously moving aside his chair so that she could carefully set the tray down on the floor between their mattresses, and then she handed out coffee to both men and served bowls of canned peaches, then watched as both men began to eat.

"Ok Leigh, now you have our undivided attention …." Hawke prompted, chewing half heartedly on a mouthful of peaches, as he watched Leigh Roland pull up another chair and waited for her to sit down. "Tell us what you've come up with."

"Well actually, I thought about something that I said when we first got here, about the radio …." Leigh swallowed down a mouthful of coffee quickly. "When we realized that the power was out, I mentioned something about rigging something up with the radio in the chopper …." She reminded, but could already see the light of disappointment and dismissal in Stringfellow Hawke's eyes.

"I remember, but that was before we found out that someone had wrecked the radio," Hawke sighed impatiently.

"I know, but you guys never actually said if it was possible, to rig something up to the radio in Airwolf …."

"What do you have in mind?" This came from Dominic Santini who at least appeared to be curious and prepared to listen to her.

"We have battery operated walkie talkies …."

"They're only good for short range, Leigh. We'd never get a signal out to Nome or Knightsbridge …." Hawke's tone was haughty now.

"I know that," Leigh glowered at him. "Just answer me this, is there a way to link the walkie talkies to Airwolf's radio?"

"You mean hard wire?" This from Dominic Santini now who was regarding Leigh Roland with curiosity and new found respect.

"I don't know. I'm a doctor, not an electrician. You'd have to think of a way to do it, but maybe you'd only have to tune them into the same frequency …."

"Then what? We broadcast our favorite songs to die by to the penguins?" Hawke sneered. "And watch them do the skaters waltz!"

"Dammit Hawke, even a school kid knows there are no penguins in the North Pole!" Leigh railed, disappointed that he did not appear to be taking her seriously. "That's the South Pole, and frankly, if you haven't got anything constructive to say, Hawke, just button it!"

"Kids, kids, please …." Santini threw a withering look at Hawke who hung his head briefly but still looked irritated when he raised his head.

"Go on, doc," Dominic Santini prompted now, throwing his young friend another warning look, curious to see where she was headed with this idea, because he was beginning to see what she might have in mind.

"You're thinking that by linking the walkie talkies to Airwolf's radio we could somehow boost the signal?"

"Yes!" Leigh beamed at Santini now.

"But how?" Santini pressed, seeing the light of excitement in her lovely amber eyes once more. "We still don't have power, so we can't even use the transmitter mast to boost the signal," he pointed out.

"We might be able to salvage some of the more powerful transmitting circuitry from the radio to get a stronger signal …." Leigh pondered, throwing Santini a questioning look. "You guys would have to figure out a way to set it up …."

"Ok …. I getchya …." Santini grew thoughtful, and Hawke remained painfully tight lipped, watching the proceedings with a dubious scowl on his face.

"Is it possible? Is there a way to link the walkie talkies to Airwolf's radio system?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not saying that we can't though …. We could sure give it a try," Santini smiled at her now, touched by the genuine excitement he could see in her eyes and the hope and expectation written all over her face.

_**She was one smart kid, he had to give her that.**_

_**And maybe, just maybe ….**_

_**However, that still left them with one big problem**_.

"But, even if we did find a way to link the two radio systems, we'd still have the problem with interference," he reminded regretfully.

"I know, Dominic, but I think I know how we can overcome that," Leigh grinned, unable to hide the excitement in her eyes and in her voice now.

"We use a weather balloon," she told him simply.

"A weather balloon?" Santini echoed, his eyes growing wide in surprise now and out of the corner of her eyes, Leigh Roland noticed Hawke start.

"Yes. A high altitude weather balloon. The sort of thing that the folks down there in Roswell mistook for a UFO …." She grinned cheekily then hurried on when she noticed the sour look on Hawke's face.

"Dottie and Eunice used them all the time for their weather experiments, and I thought maybe there was a way we could use them too."

Leigh paused to catch her breath and waited for either man to make a comment, however they both remained silent, watching her with curiosity now.

"They're really quite sturdy things, made to survive the rigors of high altitudes and strong winds. I figured we could maybe attach a walkie talkie to a high altitude weather balloon filled with helium, and send it high enough to penetrate the weather system. The balloon would be tethered to the ground with high tensile steel cable, which could act as an antenna and a walkie talkie would act as a transmitter, boosting the signal from Airwolf," she finished, a little breathlessly and then waited for Hawke and Santini to react. "Don't you see fellas? That way we don't have to leave the ground at all …."

If she had expected Hawke to leap out of his chair and dance around excitedly, then she was sorely disappointed, for he just sat there, staring at her in grim silence while Dominic Santini regarded her with a frown, scratching absently at the thinning hair on the top of his head.

"Well?" she demanded petulantly after several minutes of silence, feeling her excitement draining away only to be replaced by fear. "Don't all cheer at once …."

"Dom?" Hawke ignored her outburst and turned to his old friend, eyeing him expectantly.

He couldn't believe that it might just be that simple.

The electronic equivalent of two tin cans and a piece of string ….

He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it himself, after all he had seen the deflated weather balloons in the meteorologists lab, and the reel of high tensile steel cable in one of the warehouses, along with the different colored gas cylinders ….

Neither he nor Dominic Santini were experts in electronics, but he suspected that between them they knew enough to rig something simple that might just work.

Hell it might just be as easy as tuning them into the same frequency!

"Ya know String, it might work …." Santini responded absently, echoing his young friend's silent thoughts, obviously still trying to piece together the feasibility of it in his mind, but Hawke could tell from the familiar twinkle in his grey eyes that his old friend approved of the scheme and thought that it had merit.

And that was good enough for him.

"You think so?"

"Sure. Sure," Santini replied with a little more enthusiasm now, a smile beginning to curve at the corner of his lips as he saw the potential.

"We might have to use more than one weather balloon, set up a kind of chain linking several walkie talkies on an open channel, relaying the signal …. Let me think about it some more, kid, but, ya know …. I think the doc could be on to something there."

Santini grinned approvingly at Leigh Roland now and she gave a deep sigh of relief, then, startling both men, she promptly burst into tears, obviously overwhelmed with relief that her suggestion had bought both herself and Hawke a reprieve from the death defying flight in Airwolf, rising swiftly from her seat and rushing out of the recreation room, leaving Hawke and Santini to look at each other in confusion.

"Does that mean she's happy?" Santini asked ruefully.

"I guess …." Hawke grinned now.

"Beautiful and smart."

"Yeah …."

"If a little …. Unpredictable …."

"Crazy like a fox …." Hawke agreed, still grinning.

"You know something kid, if you've got any sense, you won't let that one get away a second time …."

"I might not have any choice Dom, if her husband is still alive …."

"Huh? Is that likely?" Santini frowned, and Hawke realized that he had yet to explain to his old friend the deductions that he and Leigh Roland had come to while he had been incapacitated, and so began to explain in more detail what they had found during their investigation of the labs and their conclusion that at least some of the scientist from Whiteout might have been evacuated to safety after all.

"I wonder what that's all about?" Santini asked, inclining his head in the direction where Leigh Roland had taken off, through the fire doors leading to the accommodation module and sickbay. "Poor kid …."

"Yeah. She's exhausted, Dom, and I think she's getting sick too."

"Like I said, poor kid. It's gotta be tough being her right now. Trying to find a way to stop us getting sicker, clinging to the hope that her husband might still be alive and feeling a bit uncertain about the future," Santini speculated, pausing to regard his young friend with knowing eyes. "Especially as she still cares for you …."

"I care for her too, Dom, but realistically …. I can't see it going anywhere," Hawke sighed softly.

"Not right away, maybe …."

"Dom …."

"Ok kid, it's your life …." Santini sighed in resignation knowing that he was fighting a loosing battle on that score.

He could not help feeling a little disappointed in his young friend.

As a child of the Sixties, the young man had enjoyed all kinds of popular music, broadening his horizons beyond the classical stuff he learned scratching and scraping and twanging the hell out of that old cello, but unlike many of his age, the young Hawke had not embraced the music of The Beatles, and whilst he had not always liked some of the things those crazy English boys did and said, Santini had had to agree with Lennon and McCartney, when they had written, All You Need Is Love.

It was true, ultimately, love really was all anyone needed, but, Santini also knew that it was a lesson that he himself had taken a long time to learn and accept, so why should he expect his hard headed young friend to be any easier to convince?

Hawke had strong feelings about his personal life, and involving innocents in the cloak and dagger lifestyle that he led when he wasn't flying stunts in Hollywood, or shutting himself away in magnificent isolation up there at the cabin on Eagle Lake, and the only way he could even begin to reconcile himself with involving his old friend Dominic in his shenanigans for the government, was that he had needed someone to sit in the rear seat and operate the weapons and other essential systems aboard Airwolf, and that he really needed someone in his camp that he could trust to cover his back, unquestioningly.

All that said, Hawke had still only just accepted it, because Dominic Santini had made the decision to get involved for himself.

"She's been gone for a while. Better go and see if I can round her up," Hawke rose slowly and stiffly from his seat and took Santini's empty breakfast bowl and coffee cup from his old friend. "Good to see you looking a little better," he smiled lovingly down at Santini now.

"Wish I could say the same about you, kid."

"I'm ok. I've got to be. We're not out of the woods yet. Now, you rest up, Dom, because I'm going to need your help with getting this idea of Leigh's to fly …."

Both men grinned at the unintended pun then Hawke reached out to slip the oxygen mask back up over Santini's nose and mouth, but again the older man stilled him with a raised hand and eyed him speculatively.

"Tell me you're not gonna fly today, String …."

"I'm not going to fly today, Dom …." Hawke assured. "I told you, I know how dumb and insane it would be …. But I also told you I would revise my decision if Leigh gave me another option. Now rest …."

Hawke gently placed the oxygen mask back over Santini's face now, much to the older man's obvious disgust then after laying a gentle, reassuring hand against the older man's shoulder; he walked slowly across the room to deposit the empty cups and dishes on the tray.

As he did so, behind his back, Hawke was immediately aware of the soft swishing and sucking sound of the fire doors on the other side of the room opening and closing, and felt a pang of relief that he wasn't going to have to expend energy he could ill afford in trekking around the station in search of Leigh Roland after all, when he knew that it would take every ounce of strength he had to gather together the things that they needed to start working on her solution to their communications problems, from the telecommunications room, the out buildings and the labs.

With a smile of relief tugging at his lips, Stringfellow Hawke looked up and turned around to find Leigh Roland coming to a halt just inside the fire doors.

"Welcome back. We were just about to send out a search party. Your coffee's getting cold …."

Hawke's gruff voice trailed away and the smile froze on his lips, as he suddenly became aware of the very odd look on Leigh's face as she came to a sharp, abrupt halt, and he could not help wondering if she had tripped, or stumbled, or if she was about to faint again, as he took in her amber eyes wide with panic, her face colorless, body trembling from something other than cold, her breath coming in short, staccato gasps and a look of cold, stark terror marring her lovely elfin features.

In the same instant, Hawke became aware that they were no longer alone, as several men clad in white Arctic camouflage gear rushed through the fire door close behind Leigh Roland and immediately took up covering positions around Roland, himself and Dominic Santini.

There were at least a dozen of them and they were all armed with what Hawke instantly recognized as Russian AK-74 Kalashnikov rifles, raised to their shoulders in readiness to fire.

_**What the hell ….**_

_**Russians? **_

_**Here?**_

_**Where the hell did they come from!**_

_**Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse ….**_

_**Oh brother ….**_


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten_**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Sixteen – Sunday, February 26th 1984._**

**_Approximately 11.15am local time._**

"**Стоп! Положите ваши руки над вашими головками!**_"_

The man closest to Leigh Roland barked out rapidly as he made it obvious that he had his weapon aimed at the small of her back, using the tip of it to prod her to move deeper into the room and a little closer toward Stringfellow Hawke.

"**Положите ваши руки над вашими головками и не двиньте!"**

"I'm sorry …." Leigh stammered, begging Stringfellow Hawke with her eyes to forgive her for not being able to get away and give him a little warning. Hawke blinked and nodded back almost imperceptibly in silent acknowledgement, guessing that she had probably walked right into their welcoming committee once she left the recreation room.

"Who are you're new playmates?" Hawke drawled sarcastically, his eyes roaming over each new face, his heart racing in his chest as he realized that many of the men now standing before him with their weapons trained on him self and his friends were mere boys.

He could also clearly see that they were just as sick and exhausted and terrified as he was.

"Come on in and join the party, comrades. I think the coffee's still good and hot."

Hawke casually moved toward the coffee pot, but froze instantly as he was greeted by the deafening sound of a dozen AK-74s being repositioned, as what he assumed were Russian commandos lined him up in their crosshairs.

"Easy fellas …." Hawke warned in a low voice and waved his hand at the coffee pot, but no-one moved, the air all around positively crackling with tension, the only sound being that of Leigh Roland's rapid, fractured breathing.

"Maybe you'd prefer tea?"

The man who had his weapon pointed at Leigh Roland's back took a step around the doctor now, declaring himself by this simple act to be the senior officer, and the man in command of the group, and he waved his weapon up and down in front of Hawke's face indicating that he should move away from the table and raise his hands up above his head.

"**Положите ваши руки над вашими головками и не двиньте!" **The Russian spat out insistently, continuing to wave and jab his weapon up and down in Hawke's face.

"So, what happened, Santa? You and your elves get lost in the storm on your way back to your grotto?"

The Russian officer, tall, heavy set and broad shouldered, cut quite an imposing figure as his expression grew sour and hard. He took another intimidating step toward Hawke and raised his weapon to his shoulder, as he fixed the slighter, younger man before him with a cold, menacing look, and Hawke found himself wondering if the man understood English, or if he was merely reacting to the insolent tone of his voice.

"Sorry pal, guess I left my Russian phrase book in my other pants …." Hawke continued to scowl. "But I think I know what you're saying …."

"**Положите ваши руки над вашими головками и не двиньте**." The Russian spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes darting around the room, watching the reaction of the younger men under his command, noting the respect in their eyes wavering as they waited to see what he would do next, to get the situation back under control as the advantage of surprise had slipped away.

"Simple Simon says …. Put your hands in the air?"

With an equally harsh expression on his face, Hawke fixed his insolent gaze on the Russian officer and reluctantly obeyed the order. As soon as he lifted his hands over his head, two young men broke ranks and rushed toward him. While one covered him with his AK-74 the other roughly patted him down, checking to see if he was armed.

"Hey, watch where you're pointin' that thing, Ivan …."

Stringfellow Hawke heard Dominic Santini's belligerent voice now from across the room and out of the corner of his eye could see two more young men waving their guns in the older man's face excitedly, roughly pulling off the oxygen mask and beckoning him to rise from the mattress.

"Who is in command here?" The senior officer demanded gruffly now in very heavily accented English.

_**So that answers that question …. **_Hawke thought to himself silently. They were indeed Russian troops, and the man hadn't just been reacting to the sarcasm in his voice then.

"Ronald Reagan …. After all, this is still the land of the free and the home of the brave …." Hawke snarled then grimaced as the Russian took a step closer and pointed the end of his weapon right under Hawke's nose.

"Wrong answer?" Hawke arched an eyebrow sardonically. "Well, as you're the one with the gun, I guess that makes you head honcho …. For now …." He drawled in a deep, rough voice.

"You will answer my question!" The Russian officer bellowed at Hawke then he too grimaced, his face growing bright red as he began to cough, rendered speechless and breathless by the uncontrollable spasm, and in response, the group of younger men all turned their eyes, if not their weapons, on Stringfellow Hawke.

Hawke heard Leigh Roland gasp and he felt the tension all around him escalate.

"No one is in command. We're all civilians, comrade," Hawke spoke slowly, turning back to face the senior Russian officer, his hands still raised above his head, noting that the expression on Leigh Roland's face now was a mixture of sheer terror and concern for Dominic Santini, whom the soldiers were still trying to force out of bed, but he could see anger fizzing in her lovely amber eyes, obviously irritated at Hawke's taunting attitude toward the invaders, begging him not to provoke them with his smart mouth.

"Do not lie to me. We have seen your helicopter …." The senior officer panted when he finished coughing, his face now almost as white as the winter camouflage he was wearing as he drew himself back up to his full height and fixed his cold, reptilian green eyes on Stringfellow Hawke.

"He's not lying."

This came from Leigh Roland now.

She appeared to be trying to surreptitiously inch her way closer toward Dominic Santini, her strongest instinct that of a doctor, concerned for and wanting to protect her patient, probably having decided that Hawke could take care of himself, and there was a hard edge to her low alto voice now and her Australian accent was much more pronounced.

"_**This**_ is a civilian facility. _**We**_ are all civilians. If you've seen the helicopter then you will have noticed that it doesn't have any kind of military markings on it," she pointed out reasonably, dragging in a ragged breath, giving Hawke a sideways look which he again interpreted correctly as her asking him to keep his big mouth shut, to try not provoke the other man any further, and to go along with whatever she said.

Hawke gave her a penetrating, warning look in return but remained silent, waiting to see what would happen next.

"My name is Dr Leigh Roland. I'm the Chief Medical Officer here at Whiteout Station. We have sick people here and this is a quarantined area …. So I guess if anyone is in charge right now, it's _**me**_," she declared with an air of authority.

"You …." The Russian officer stared at Hawke for another long moment, then turned to look at Leigh, as though her words had only just penetrated his brain, raking his eyes over her insolently, a nasty sneer twisting his lips, briefly, then totally disregarding what she had said, instead returned his attention to Stringfellow Hawke, regarding him with cold, shrewd, calculating eyes. "You are the pilot of that helicopter?"

"Yup. That's me," Hawke hissed through clenched teeth, fighting back the desire to punch the other man square in the jaw for the way he had just looked at Leigh Roland, his lewd, evil thoughts and unhealthy interest in her all too clear, but aware that if he showed the man that he had feelings for Leigh, he might very well be making the situation worse, for her, and for himself.

If the Russian knew that he could use Leigh Roland to goad and manipulate him, Hawke knew that he would not hesitate to hurt her, or at the very least, threaten her in some way, to ensure his co-operation.

Hawke understood now that that was what Leigh had been glaring at him for. Warning him not to reveal to the Russians that they were anything other strangers thrown together to investigate the mysterious goings on at Whiteout Station, that way they could not be used against each other.

"What is your rank?"

"I don't have a rank, comrade. I'm just the dumb schmuck that got drafted to fly that crazy lady up here," Hawke drawled in a deep, growling voice, inclining his head slightly in Leigh Roland's direction.

"Who are you?"

"Nobody," Hawke sighed deeply, an expression on his face that indicated that he was bored with having to repeat himself.

"Like I told you, I'm just the chauffeur around here. My boss is a wealthy eccentric philanthropist …." Hawke sneered and gave a derisory snort. "And his name ain't Uncle Sam, if you were wondering …."

"How many of you are there?" The senior Russian man demanded harshly now, growing impatient with Hawke's insolent attitude.

"Just the three of us. What you see is what you get," Leigh Roland interjected, anxious that Hawke's abrasive attitude was only making the Russian man more impatient and irritated.

She raised her chin in defiance, letting the intruder know that if he tried to tangle with any of them he would get a lot more than he bargained for, but Stringfellow Hawke recognized the move for what it was.

Sheer bravado.

Still, he could not suppress a smile from tugging at the corner of his lips.

_**That's my girl …. **_

_**Given 'em hell!**_

_**But don't give away all our secrets, honey! You could at least let the guy think he's outnumbered, not the other way around!**_

However, Hawke could not help feeling that the Russian knew exactly what the situation was, that he knew how many of them were still alive at Whiteout Station and that lying to the already edgy and irritated, not to mention sick and tired and exhausted senior officer might not be such a good idea.

"I suggest you lower your weapons, gentlemen, after all, you are on American soil and have no authority here …." Leigh raised her voice now, along with her chin.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The Russian officer again ignored Leigh Roland and continued to glare at Stringfellow Hawke, obviously deciding that he was the main antagonist.

"We could ask you the same question, comrade …. Must be mighty important if you're willing to risk an international incident …." Hawke drawled, wishing that he could lower his hands because his arms were beginning to ache and felt like lead, an indication of just how sick and weak he was, and a reminder that he was in no fit condition to be taking on one man, let alone a dozen Russian commandos single handed. "But I think you already know …."

"What are you doing here!" The Russian roared, again waving his weapon directly in Hawke's face, his own face suffusing with hot color as he fought back yet another coughing fit.

"Minding our own damned business! What are _**you**_ doing here!" Hawke countered.

"Hey, look, we have every right to be here …." Leigh Roland cut in, drawing the irritated Russian's attention away from Stringfellow Hawke and ignoring Hawke's warning glare.

_**What the hell did Hawke think he was doing! **_

_**Baiting the guy wasn't going to help anyone!**_

Still, she couldn't help but admire his gall. With a dozen Russian automatic rifles pointed at him, he wasn't giving any ground.

"I told you. I am the Chief Medical Officer here …." Leigh paused to take a quick breath. "_**I**_ have a legitimate reason for being here. I live and work here. My father died recently and I took some leave …." She rushed on, ignoring Hawke's penetrating look.

"When there was no contact with the station personnel for several days, I approached a friend to help me to return to the station to investigate …."

_**All of which was true, so far as it went.**_

_**He didn't need to know that the friend h**__**ad been a United States Senator ….**_

"He kindly recruited the pilots and aircraft to bring me here, civilian pilots and their aircraft, not military, Cobber, and then we got stranded by the weather …."

"Listen comrade, we've established who _**we**_ are, and that you outnumber us, so why don't you tell us who _**you**_ are and _**why**_ you are _**here**_ …." Hawke cut Leigh off abruptly; again noting the hungry and lecherous way the Russian was looking at her now, and wanting to draw his attention away from her.

She had made her point, that they were here on official business, and that there were people out there who knew where they were and would miss them if they failed to return.

"That is none of your concern," the Russian's tone was haughty and dismissive now.

"I think you're here for the same reason that we are …." Hawke pinned the Russian with a meaningful look now, but the other man held his gaze unwaveringly.

"You and your men are sick. At least let me take a proper look …." Leigh Roland offered, noting the menacing look on the Russian officer's face now, obviously angry and resentful, pushed to the limit of his patience, provoked by Hawke's goading, aware of the silent scrutiny of his men, and something else, aimed specifically at her self that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise and sent a shudder of revulsion and fear running down her spine.

"_**Enough!**_ You …." The Russian senior officer gave Leigh Roland one more scathing look, leaving her with no doubts about the vile, depraved thoughts running through his mind, then dragged his gaze away from her and waved his weapon in Stringfellow Hawke's face once more. "You will take two of my men and show them how to work the radio!" He ordered roughly.

"The radio isn't working," Hawke gave Leigh a long, reassuring look, making her aware that he too knew of the Russians lewd thoughts toward her and offering her a silent promise that he would make sure that she never found herself alone with the man if he could help it.

"Someone …. Disabled it, before we got here." Hawke added, turning his glacial blue eyes on the Russian, his expression leaving the other man in no doubt that the good doctor was strictly off limits, and should he try anything, he would have to go through Hawke first.

"Then you will take them outside and use the radio in the helicopter …."

"Great idea, now why didn't we think of that!" Hawke growled sarcastically. "Would that I could comrade, but that's no good either. You see the weather is making it difficult for any kind of radio transmission. We've already tried, several times. Believe me, we wouldn't still be here if we had a choice …."

The Russian officer ignored Hawke's outburst and let out a string of orders in thick guttural Russian, sending several of his men hurrying from the recreation room, no doubt to check for themselves that there was no-one else hiding away in dark corners, and to make sure that Hawke had told the truth about the radio being out of commission.

"Why don't you pull up a seat and make yourself comfortable, comrade? We're not going anywhere. Any of us …." Hawke's tone was taunting again, and Leigh Roland rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation and had to bite her tongue because she so badly wanted to tell Hawke to lay off the Russian.

_**Couldn't he see how wound up the guy was, and how itchy his trigger finger was?**_

"On the contrary. As soon as we have made contact with our forces, my men and I will be leaving …."

"I don't think so, comrade. Didn't you hear what the lady just said? This is a quarantine area …."

"That is of no interest to me …." The Russian's tone was dismissive.

"Then it should be. We're all in the same boat …. Or should I say submarine?"

"What!" Leigh Roland exclaimed, wide eyed, but then Stringfellow Hawke could see that she understood where he was coming from.

"How the hell did you and your men get here? Huh? You didn't parachute in, that's for sure. Not in this weather. So that leaves one option. You came over the ice. You walked or came on skis. From the sea. Either from a ship or a submarine …." Hawke speculated out loud now and watched the irritation and discomfort on the Russian officer's face in response to his words.

_**Bingo!**_

_**So the scientists here at Whiteout hadn't been paranoid after all. The Russians really had had a ship or a sub out there watching their every move ….**_

Leigh Roland watched the exchange in fascination.

She had never been more terrified in her life, but she was also curious.

Did Hawke really know something, or was he just on a fishing expedition?

She hoped he knew what he was doing, because the Russian man looked about ready to explode.

"You probably walked or skied in, yesterday, before the storm closed in again? Maybe you guys spent the night in one of the outbuildings, watched to see who was here and what kind of reception you might get. Watched to see what we were doing …. Bidding you time …." Hawke arched an eyebrow in enquiry now.

"I guess you probably thought about opening up the helicopter to use the radio, but then had second thoughts? Right? You figured that at the very least she might have some kind of alarm, and you didn't want to give yourselves away before you were ready. Good thing you didn't try it, comrade, because she is fitted with special security measures. Palm recognition software that allows only my self and my co-pilot access …."

The Russian eyed Hawke suspiciously, and Hawke wondered if the man believed him or if he thought that he was just spinning him a line.

Of course it was a bluff ….

Not even The Firm had that kind of sophisticated and extremely advanced technology, but this guy didn't know that! If they did, then Archangel would surely have insisted that Moffet have it installed at the very beginning, but then that would have rendered Airwolf useless to anyone other than Moffet, and would only have aided him in his dastardly plan to steal her and sell her to the Libyans, where once he was ready to hand her over, he could simply have had the equipment dismantled or switched off until it could be reprogrammed for her next regular pilot.

Thus ensuring that The Firm never got her back.

Hawke didn't care if the man believed him or not. He had his answers.

They were written all over the Russian man's face.

The Russians had indeed spent the night, maybe even longer than that, in warehouse number two, maybe even sneaking in after he and Leigh had used the radio in Airwolf to try to contact Archangel on Friday, after they had finished searching the labs.

However Hawke suspected that he was right about them not attempting to open Airwolf to use the radio for fear that she had some kind of alarm that would be triggered and bring the occupants of the station out to see what was happening, and thus lose them the element of surprise.

"My boss is a wealthy guy, but that doesn't mean that he's stupid …." Hawke continued, regardless, hoping to take advantage of the Russian's fear of tampering with Airwolf, just in case he took it into his head at some point in the future, to try to commandeer her for the Motherland.

"He wouldn't want just anyone waltzing off with an expensive aircraft like that, even if he can afford to buy another one …. But he isn't averse to blowing her sky high, if in the process it blows the thief to kingdom come …."

Hawke smirked now as he took in the guilty look on the Russian's face and could not help thinking that he was right, then found him self wishing that it was true.

_**Maybe it was something that he should think about in the future? **_

He would have to ask Dominic if they could rig some kind of anti tampering device that would give anyone trying to get into Airwolf, other than themselves, a really big surprise.

Maybe not a bomb, but a few thousand volts through the ass should help any prospective thief to reconsider the wisdom of his actions ….

"What happened comrade? Did your shipmates put you and your men off because you were sick?"

Hawke quickly cast his eyes around the room taking in the pale faces and blood shot and fever bright eyes, the young men swaying slightly from fatigue and something else, and knew that he was right.

These men were all sick ….

At the very least, as sick as he and Dominic Santini were.

Which meant that the senior officer's anxiety and distrust, even his unsavory, lustful thoughts about Leigh Roland might also be a symptom of the contagion …. Hawke quickly reminded himself.

"_**Enough!**_ You will do as I tell you, or you will be shot!"

"Hey! Take it easy fella …." Leigh Roland warned in a low voice now, terrified that Hawke had pushed the man too far.

_**She could see that the Russian man was sick ….**_

_**So could Hawke dammit ….**_

Yet, Leigh could not help thinking that Hawke had forgotten that the symptoms of the contagion, if that was what these Russian soldiers had too, were paranoia, irrational rage, and madness. The first two of which the Russian officer was displaying in abundance.

It would not take much to push him over the edge.

However, Hawke had the bit between his teeth now, and was not prepared to back off.

"Or maybe they were the ones who were sick, and you and your men bailed out before you got as crazy and irrational as they were?"

_**So**__**, he had recognized the dangers in goading the man after all ….**_

The Russian officer swallowed convulsively and Hawke knew that he had hit the nail squarely on the head.

"You and your men have been here before? Or, if not you, others from the crew of the ship or the submarine?" Hawke again speculated but the Russian officer refused to either confirm or deny his suspicions. "And my guess is they took something back with them that they didn't count on. Sickness …."

The Russian officer's hand began to shake as he began to cough and suddenly he doubled over as the spasm robbed him of breath, his legs quaking, as his weapon fell from his hands and clattered on the ground.

Hawke saw his chance immediately and swiftly bent to retrieve the AK-74 from the floor, suddenly finding the room spinning as he did so. However, despite the coughing fit, the Russian officer still maintained some of his wits and lashed out with his foot and kicked the automatic rifle out of Hawke's reach.

At almost exactly the same time, one young man who had been standing guard over Dominic Santini also suddenly crumpled to the ground, and two more standing behind Leigh Roland began to cough and choke and gag.

Meanwhile, in response to their senior officer's incapacity and his suddenly finding himself disarmed, the rest of the commandos took a collective step forward, half of them training their weapons on Stringfellow Hawke, the other on Leigh Roland, as uncaring for her own safety, the doctor roughly shoved her way between the men and went to the aid of the Russian officer because he was closer to her than the other man who had passed out.

"Relax kids, she's a doctor. Doctor …." Hawke kept his tone low and even, as he straightened up very slowly and very carefully, trying to fight back the dizziness and nausea the sudden movement had caused, and keep his balance, hands going back up around his ears as his eyes darted around the room, taking in the anxious, suspicious and uncertain expressions on the young men's faces, as they watched Leigh Roland help their commanding officer into a chair and grab his wrist to take his pulse.

"Hey …. She's trying to help him …." Hawke explained slowly, wondering if any of them except their senior officer understood a single word he was saying, as he felt the level of tension around him rising rapidly. "Medico. Doctor …."

Hawke took in the anxious expressions on all the young men's faces, the uncertainty in their body language and the nervous twitching of their trigger fingers and decided that he wasn't going to take any chances that they might misunderstand Leigh Roland's actions.

"Call off the dogs, comrade .…" Hawke addressed the now recovering Russian who managed to gasp out a succinct order to his team, whose eyes immediately returned to him seeking acknowledgement that he wasn't speaking under duress.

"Tell them she's not hurting you …." Hawke insisted.

"Da …."

Breathless, the Russian officer nodded and repeated his order in a more authoritative voice, leaving the young men under his command in no doubt.

"**Держите ваш пожар!"** He barked, aware of Hawke's suspicious eyes on him as he spoke again, this time in English, for Hawke's benefit. "Hold your fire!"

"Thank you …." Hawke gave a deep, expressive sigh, feeling the tension still cracking in the air all around him.

It wasn't over yet.

"Now why don't you tell your men to stand down, and let the doctor take a look at you? We both know you don't have any other place to go, and it won't do you any good to kill us either …."

Hawke found himself wondering if that was just wishful thinking on his part.

"You all need medical assistance, and we have the only doctor for hundreds of miles. The way I see it, if we don't start co-operating with each other, and working together, comrade, we are all going to die here."

The Russian officer fixed Hawke with another hard, cold look then turned his attention to the eager and curious faces of his men, weighing up the situation, and then he let out a deep sigh of resignation and barked out a string of orders.

Immediately the young men responded by lowering their weapons and engaging the safety catches, and now Stringfellow Hawke found himself letting out a deep sigh of relief too.

"Wise decision, comrade …." Hawke lowered his hands now, as he watched Leigh Roland walk warily across the room to retrieve her medical bag, moving slowly and cautiously as several of the Russian commandos rushed to the aid of the other young man, helping him to his feet and into a chair close to the space heater.

"Your men are cold and tired, hungry and thirsty too no doubt. There's hot coffee here, and food in the kitchen …." Hawke indicated with his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. "Just tell them to go easy on the supplies and not eat us out of house and home …." Hawke quipped, hoping to relieve some of the tension. "We could be here for a while yet."

"Thank you …." The Russian officer spoke after another brief burst of coughing, and then issued forth another set of orders which sent several young men in the direction of the kitchen.

"Will you ask the others to put their weapons down, please? We're no threat to you, comrade. We're unarmed …." Hawke pointed out in reasonable tones. "For a reason. We've seen what happened to the scientists here, Comrade, what they did to themselves and each other. The contagion, whatever it is, inspires some form of irrational, violent madness …." Hawke reminded. "Better for everyone if we don't have weapons to turn on each other …. Ourselves …." He kept his tone neutral and even but could still see the suspicion and distrust lingering in the other man's reptilian watery green eyes.

"This time you ask too much, I think …." The Russian gave Hawke a rueful smile.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. At least ask them to lay their weapons aside while the doctor examines them? Let's get one thing straight from the get-go, Comrade, no-one is anyone's prisoner here, we're just a bunch of folks caught up in a bad situation, doing the best we can to stay alive. Agreed?"

"Very well …." The Russian officer acquiesced with a weak sigh. "Why are you being so …. Generous?" He asked, still suspicious it seemed, as Leigh Roland came up beside him and rummaged around in her medical bag for a thermometer and the blood pressure meter, but when she approached him, thermometer in her hand, the man waved her away. "My men first, please, doctor ….Take care of my men …."

Leigh Roland threw Hawke a questioning look and he nodded his silent approval.

"I could ask you the same thing, comrade …." Hawke returned his attention to the Russian officer now. "After all, you could have just killed us all," He pointed out in a low voice because Leigh was still standing close by, returning her things to her medical bag and he did not want her to overhear and grow alarmed.

He was suspicious about that too.

_**Why hadn't they just shot them on the spot when they stormed in?**_

Was it because they had orders not to cause an international incident?

Killing two Americans and an Australian citizen on American soil would definitely do that. If it ever got out that that was what had really happened here ….

They probably had orders to go about their business quietly, so as not to alert the rest of the world to the fact that they had ever been here at Whiteout Station …. Had ever had any involvement in the events here at Whiteout ….

If that were the case, it made more sense to kill them and leave no witnesses behind.

Hawke didn't like that idea one bit.

He couldn't be sure what the Russian officer's orders were, but to his way of thinking, it made sense that he and Santini and Leigh Roland were only still alive because this Russian officer thought that they might prove useful to him in completing his mission, whatever that might be.

He probably thought that he could use them to force the American government to co-operate with his demands, whatever they might be.

Once they had fulfilled their usefulness ….

Stringfellow Hawke knew that he had to make it his business to make sure that the Russians continued to believe it was in their best interests to allow Dominic, Leigh Roland and himself to live.

Hawke suddenly had another thought which might account for the Russian officer's behavior and uneasiness.

Maybe he didn't have orders at all?

Maybe this unit of commandos were acting on their own?

Maybe they hadn't had any choice.

If they had been forced to abandon their transport, be it submarine or war ship, they may have had to do so in a hurry and had been left without any means of communication with their superiors back in Moscow.

Maybe they had been left with no choice but to head for Whiteout Station, the one place where they could find shelter and sanctuary, food and heat. Perhaps their commanding officer had been hoping that they might be able to fix the radio equipment and make contact with their government, and that they might find something in the medical facility to keep them alive until help arrived?

They probably hadn't anticipated that they would find other people already here, and without explicit orders to follow, the Russian officer was acting on his own initiative, taking advantage of the shelter, food and medical assistance on offer and bidding his time until he learned exactly what they knew and why they were here.

The guy wasn't stupid.

He had to know that their survival ensured the survival of him self and his men and that if they all worked together, they could all get out of this mess in one piece. After that it would be up to the higher powers on both sides to deal with the fall out.

However, that was for the future.

Right now, they still had one other major problem.

"But you didn't, for which we are all very grateful …. And right now, comrade, we have a common enemy. This damned contagion! If we are all going to get out of this alive, we have to set aside our differences and start trusting each other."

Hawke gave a deep, shoulder raising sigh, reaching out to the nearest chair to steady himself, as he again felt the world around him dip and spin.

"So, in the spirit of détente, comrade, what do you say, when you and your men have been checked over by the doctor and have eaten and are rested and warm, we all sit down and you can tell us what you know, and we'll fill you in on what we know, and then maybe we can put our heads together and work out how we are going to get out of this mess before anyone else dies …."


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Eleven._**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Sixteen – Sunday, February 26th 1984._**

**_Approximately 1.00pm local time._**

"How does it look, Leigh?" Stringfellow Hawke asked softly as he watched Leigh Roland wave away the last of the Russian commandos, pantomiming to the young man in exaggerated sign language that he should keep warm, eat something and get himself something to drink, and then reach out for the man's medical chart to make a note of her observations.

Now the only one who remained to be checked over was their commanding officer, who had insisted that Leigh check all of his men over first.

Hawke suspected that if these commandos had been the ones responsible for starting the fire in the labs, then they were probably at the same stage in the disease as he and Dominic Santini were, having been exposed to it at roughly the same time.

Or at least within the same twenty four hour period.

Leigh had decided to check over the sickest men first, but before she got started, she and Hawke had first discussed how and where they could accommodate their new guests, and after reaching an agreement, Hawke had gone to check on Dominic Santini and then he had gone back to the Russian senior officer and requested the help of some of his men, the ones just sitting and waiting around to be examined by Leigh Roland, to assist in bringing more mattresses and the heating and lighting equipment that he and Dom had left at the door to the covered walkway, to the recreation room so that they could all be more comfortable.

The Russian officer had agreed, reluctantly at first, but then the commandos he had sent off to look around the station returned, breathless and eager to report their findings, or lack there of, and their commanding officer had then dispatched them to help Hawke and ordered those left behind to start moving the furniture to clear a space on the other side of the room.

The commandos had quickly and efficiently cleared enough space on the far side of the recreation room to lay a dozen mattresses in two rows of six and had put together another of the space heaters to take the chill off that side of the room.

While they had worked on finding bed linen and pillows, the men who had disappeared into the kitchen reappeared with mugs of hot soup for their comrades and now they were all sitting together on their side of the room, savoring the warmth of the soup and huddled around the space heater, but still eyeing their hosts suspiciously.

_**Hosts or hostages?**_

Hawke found himself wondering silently, despite what he had said to the Russian officer about their being no prisoners here.

That remained to be seen.

"You were right …." Leigh Roland gave a deep sigh as she raised her eyes from the chart she was filling in and regarded him with critical eyes.

Hawke looked exhausted, swaying slightly from fatigue, and every breath seemed to be causing him a great deal of discomfort and pain.

She was exhausted too, and she knew it showed, after all she had barely had a wink of sleep all night.

"Looks like they have it too …. Whatever _**it**_ is …."

"They don't appear to be any worse than we are, Leigh," Hawke observed, a silent question in his lovely fever bright blue eyes, and this drew a weak, weary smile from her lips.

_**Were any of the newcomers showing any signs of madness or irrational rage?**_

Leigh shook her head gently in response to his unasked question and saw him relax just a little, although she wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not. She didn't know the new men, could barely make herself understood to them and had no way of knowing if they had been telling her the truth, even if she had known a word or two of Russian. If these Russian commandos were the same as military men the world over then they could just as easily be hiding the true extent of their physical condition so as not to appear weak in her eyes.

Just as Hawke was doing now, trying to deceive her into believing that he wasn't nearly as sick as she thought.

Not wanting the Russian to think that he was too sick to take care of himself and his companions.

Not wanting to allow the other man a chance to think that he might have the upper hand in this business.

"So …. Maybe they were exposed around the same time as we were …." Hawke pondered aloud now.

"Maybe," Leigh sighed tiredly. "Why don't you take some of your own advice, Cobber, and sit down before you fall down …." She again smiled weakly at him, noting the scowl that settled on his face as he realized that he wasn't fooling her with his macho act.

"I will if you will …."

"Hawke …. I don't know if I can do this …. Nurse all these sick men, alone …." She lowered her voice, wanting no-one but him to hear her fears and doubts.

"I've given them all Aspirin and antibiotics, but I'm not sure there is enough of everything to go around …." She let out a deep sigh then grew pensive, dropping her voice even lower now.

"Just do the best you can Leigh," Hawke smiled softly at her. "Maybe if we can put that idea of yours into practice and make contact with the outside world, we can request an airdrop of medical supplies, along with the antidote …."

"Optimist. What if they all …." Leigh stopped herself suddenly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, wincing as she bit down a little too hard and tasted salty, metallic blood in her mouth, but Hawke knew what she had been about to say.

_**Maybe they weren't showing any signs of it yet ….**_

_**But ….**_

_**What if they all succumbed to the symptoms of madness?**_

_**What indeed ….**_

It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about that him self, Hawke conceded silently, and realized that the odds that it might happen had just increased considerably.

"I don't have enough sedatives to knock everyone out, Hawke," Leigh whispered, and he knew that she was recalling the macabre scenes they had discovered out there in the compound and in the research labs, and imagining the horror and terror that must have gripped her friends and colleagues in their final hours, and knew that she hadn't forgotten that both he and Dominic Santini had practically demanded that she sedate them if they showed the slightest hint that they too were succumbing to the madness.

"Hopefully it won't come to that …." Hawke tired to assure, knowing that if it did, they would just have to try to protect and defend themselves as best they could.

"Are any of them showing those kinds of symptoms?" Hawke finally asked out loud, although he deliberately kept his voice low enough so that only she could hear him. Leigh hesitated, for just an instant, then shook her head gently, suddenly aware of the Russian senior officer watching them warily from the other side of the room, and her expression changed rapidly.

Hawke surreptitiously followed her gaze across the room and knew that she was revising that, and he knew that she was recalling the overtly sexual way the man had looked at her and was speculating to her self if that was just his natural way of dealing with all women, or if it was a symptom of the virus.

The Russian was watching them both carefully, but there was nothing predatory in the way his eyes roamed over Leigh Roland now.

"Then maybe you were right about this thing losing some of its potency as it gets passed on, or maybe it has mutated …."

"Hawke …. Did things just get better, or worse?"

"I don't know, but I figure it's time we got some answers …."

Hawke dropped his voice as he spotted movement from across the other side of the room out of the corner of his eye, and turned in time to see the Russian commanding officer staggering unevenly across the room toward them, his legs shivering and shaking beneath him, reaching out to various items of furniture for support, as finally he drew close and almost collapsed into the chair Leigh Roland quickly thrust forward ready to receive him.

"How are my men, doctor?" He asked on a ragged, wheezy breath, pinning Leigh Roland with cold, pale green eyes, although she could not deny the genuine concern in his voice for the young men under his command.

"They are all tired to the point of exhaustion, cold and hungry too, but we can soon remedy that. Some of them are border line hypothermic and all of them seem to have symptoms of an upper respiratory tract infection …. Just like the three of us …." Leigh Roland informed matter of factly.

"Comrade, don't you think it's time you told us what you know?" Hawke interjected, but when the other man remained stubbornly silent, he reached out for the nearest chair, drawing it up close to the Russian officer, turning it around so that he could straddle it and face the Russian man, then sat down carefully in it, waiting patiently while Leigh Roland began her medical examination.

For his part, the Russian officer sat stiffly in the chair, enduring Leigh Roland's gentle probing, remaining tight lipped and tense, answering her questions about his symptoms succinctly, and silently scrutinizing her every move, his face a grey, rigid, expressionless mask as he awaited her verdict.

"So," Hawke expelled a deep breath as Leigh Roland finally removed the thermometer from the Russian officer's mouth and turned away to make a note of the reading on the chart she had made out, adding it to the information that she had already begun to note down. However, there was one vital piece of information still missing from the chart. The Russian man's name.

"Are you ready to talk now?" Hawke prompted again and now the Russian pinned him with cold, reptilian green eyes, emitting a gentle sigh as he nodded stiffly in response. "Good. My name is Hawke, Dr Roland you already know, and my co-pilot is Dominic Santini …." Hawke made the introductions in low, neutral tones; however the other man made no effort to offer his own name.

"And you are?" Hawke prompted in slightly raised tones, irritated by the Russian's apparent reluctance. "Hell, I can't keep calling you comrade …." He pointed out with a rueful smile. "Even the Geneva Convention allows …."

"I am aware of what the Geneva Convention permits, Mr Hawke," the Russian cut in abruptly. "Name, rank and serial number. …."

"I already told you that we are all civilians, comrade," Hawke sighed expressively. "And this is not an interrogation. You have our names. Common courtesy dictates that in return, you tell us your name …."

"Very well. I am Colonel Yuri Petrovitch Chapayev," the man imparted somewhat reluctantly, and was visibly surprised when Hawke extended his right hand to him in friendly greeting.

"Colonel …." Hawke regarded the man with a neutral expression, waiting for him to reach and out and accept his hand, and felt a rush of relief flood through him when after only a brief hesitation the other man accepted his hand and shook it, coolly and very briefly.

"Relax comrade, Chapayev. You're in good hands with Dr Roland," Hawke raised his eyes to Leigh Roland now and smiled at her and she smiled softly in return. "So, how is the Colonel doing doctor?" Hawke enquired casually.

"Well, like the rest of his men, the Colonel is suffering from exhaustion. He has an elevated temperature and is displaying the symptoms of an upper respiratory tract infection, but I am pleased to say that it appears that none of them are any worse than we are," Leigh imparted in a gentle voice. "And if he will permit it, I will give him the same antibiotics and Aspirin that I have given to each of his men …. And that reminds me, Mr Hawke, you are due for your meds too …."

"See what I've had to put up with, Colonel …." Hawke winked at Leigh Roland before continuing. "When she said that she was in charge, she really meant it!" He drawled, eyes twinkling with amusement now, hoping to lighten the mood a little and encourage the Russian officer to relax a little.

"Ok Colonel, how about we tell you what we already know …. Get the wheels in motion?" Hawke suggested when the other man remained silent, drawing his chair up a little closer and leaning in against the backrest so that he could keep his voice down low.

"As Dr Roland already explained, she is the Chief Medical Officer here at Whiteout Station, and that while she was away on compassionate leave, something catastrophic seems to have happened here," Hawke began in earnest, but there was no reaction from the other man, no change in his austere, haughty expression.

"When there was no contact with the scientists here for several days, naturally Dr Roland grew concerned, and so she approached my employer, a friend of hers …. Who then called upon my services to bring the doctor here."

"When we arrived, we could not help but notice that one of the buildings had been on fire, the research labs, and there was no sign of the scientists, nor any clue as to what had happened here. However, once we began to investigate, we did find one man, dead, apparently from natural causes …."

"And then we found something even more disturbing, Colonel, evidence of wanton destruction, violent wanton destruction such as wrecking the power generators and the radio equipment and deliberately rendering the snow mobiles useless, and the deliberate decommissioning of all the weapons in the Armory, as well as the various explosives the scientists used to obtain their samples, and the emergency flares."

Hawke decided to hold nothing back, and from the calm, impassive expression on the Colonel's face he began to suspect that his initial suspicion that these Russian commandos had been here before was correct, and that he was not telling the man anything that he did not already know.

"Our first clue as to what really happened here came from reading the Administrators daily log book. He described an incident that caused much amusement and excitement amongst his colleagues, Colonel. The scientists saw a shooting star …."

When this did not elicit any reaction from the Russian Colonel, Hawke was even more certain that he was only covering old ground for the man.

"The scientists sent a party out on to the ice to retrieve the meteorite, a fatal error as it turned out, for that was when people started to die. Three men in the party that went out to find the rock from outer space, one man returning home on the supply plane, when it crashed …. We located the wreckage on our way up here, nothing but a burned out shell and nothing to indicate how or why it had crashed, only that there were no survivors …. Then, slowly, one by one, either by illness, or madness which inspired unprecedented violence, the scientists, Dr Roland's colleagues and friends, began to die …."

"We now know that the scientists were infected by a strange virus, and that although only two of them appear to have died directly from its physical effects, similar symptoms to those we are all displaying, the others were driven to either kill themselves, or each other, under the influence of some terrible rage …. Madness …."

"We have seen the evidence with our own eyes, Colonel. Murder and suicide, chaos and destruction. We have now located thirteen bodies around the complex …. Yes, Colonel, we have investigated the burned out labs too, so we know that the fire was no accident, indeed, we assume that it was some crude attempt to cleanse the area of this vile contagion …. But, you see Colonel, that still leaves seven people unaccounted for. And I guess that is where you come in …."

As Stringfellow Hawke's voice trailed away, his words, and their implication drew a sharp look from Colonel Chapayev, and Hawke knew that finally he had the man's attention.

"Colonel, we know that it wasn't a meteorite that the scientists saw. It was a satellite. More precisely, a Russian satellite …." Hawke paused to take in a deep breath. "And we have to assume that it was carrying some kind of bio-weapon …."

Hawke deliberately kept his tone neutral and even, not wanting the other man to think that he was making an accusation, however, Colonel Chapayev remained silent, neither confirming nor denying Hawke's speculation, but the austere expression on his face told Stringfellow Hawke all that he needed to know.

"We believe that your government had an agent here at Whiteout Station, perhaps not a Russian citizen, but someone sympathetic to your cause, and that he was supposed to retrieve the evidence and return it to the authorities in the Soviet Union …. But when he didn't show up for a pre arranged rendezvous, and your people couldn't make contact with him, the guys over there in the Kremlin sent you and your men here to investigate …. It was you and your men who set fire to the research labs, wasn't it Colonel?"

"No, Mr Hawke. You are mistaken," Chapayev's voice was cold and emotionless.

"Then why don't you set the record straight, Colonel," Hawke invited, showing no evidence that he was irritated by the Russian Colonel's reluctance to talk.

"If I must …."

"I told you, you are not under interrogation, Colonel," Hawke emitted a deep, shoulder raising sigh of exasperation now.

_**So much for the spirit of co-operation ….**_

"We're not looking to apportion blame, Colonel. Right now it doesn't matter to me what the hell you guys have been playing with and how it managed to get loose on Whiteout Station. The point is, it _**is**_ loose, and we have _**all**_ been exposed to it. It's also pretty damned obvious that it doesn't discriminate …." Hawke paused, briefly, to allow the Russian man to process what he was saying.

"It's not going to politely pass you by because you are Russian and kill us because we are not. This thing recognizes no borders, it has no political allegiances, and it doesn't respond to orders. It doesn't care what kind of human being you are, if you are good or honest or decent. It just knows how to kill, Colonel, and it seems pretty damned efficient at it from what I have seen …."

Stringfellow Hawke paused to drag in a ragged breath, raising his right hand to rub it wearily over his face, and then exhaled the breath as a long, audible hiss.

"If we don't survive this mess, Colonel, whoever comes after us, and believe me, there will be others …. They will never know the truth. More people will die. Your people will become more distrusting of our people, and our people more distrusting or yours and before you know, our countries are at war …. And for what?"

"Colonel Chapayev, if Mr Hawke's theory is correct, then there is a possibility that whoever created this virus might also have created an antidote …." Leigh Roland put in now. "And frankly, I don't want to think about the consequences if he is wrong …."

"This situation isn't of our making, but we are the ones who have to face it. Survive it. Let the guys in Washington and Moscow work out who is to blame, Colonel. We are merely innocent victims and the only thing that we need to worry about is getting out of here alive," Hawke reminded. "But if we don't Comrade, we can at least leave behind a true account of events, so that whoever does come looking for us will know the truth, and maybe that will help to prevent a war …."

"Colonel, if you know what happened to those seven missing people, you have to tell us. Please. One of them is my husband …." Leigh Roland leaned in closer to the Russian Colonel now, her voice quivering as she fixed steady, appealing amber eyes on the man.

"Then you have my condolences, doctor …." Colonel Chapayev responded without emotion.

"He's dead?" Leigh choked out now, even though she had been steeling herself for days to hear the worst about Gregory Chandler's fate. "How can you be sure? I didn't even tell you his name …." She protested.

"His name does not matter, doctor. You have my word. Your husband is dead," Chapayev told her impassively, unmoved by her obvious grief and shock. "They are all dead."

"What happened, Colonel?" Hawke stepped in now, throwing Leigh Roland a sympathetic look, knowing that she needed to know all the details, despite the pain and heartache they would cause her.

"You are a very clever man, Mr Hawke," Chapayev sighed, his tone sarcastic now. "You seem to have arrived at part of the truth, by simple guesswork," he paused, as though silently debating whether to impart what he knew or not, then closing his eyes, briefly, he drew in a deep breath and continued.

"I know nothing of secret agents or satellites, or bio-weapons, Mr Hawke. My men and I were on the ice engaged in a routine Arctic survival training expedition. We arrived at our camp site, several kilometers north east of here on the drifting pack ice, in the early hours of the morning on Tuesday 14th February," He explained matter of factly.

"We were transported by one of my country's fleet of nuclear submarines, and then they were to embark on routine patrol and exercises in the Beaufort Sea. Our landing on the ice was delayed because of the storms, otherwise we too might very well have witnessed this shooting star …. Meteorite or satellite, or whatever it was, falling to earth."

"The exercise was scheduled to last for seven days and upon its successful conclusion my orders were to make contact with, and await the return of the same submarine we arrived on, for extraction and return to the Soviet Union," Chapayev explained slowly in a low voice, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

"The submarine was delayed. Considerably delayed. When it finally reached our co-ordinates and we went on board the captain apologized for keeping us waiting and explained that the delay had been caused by their responding to a mayday call."

"Captain Dmitriev explained that they had intercepted several radio messages from somewhere on the ice, from frantic people, claiming to be scientists from Whiteout Station. A desperate call for help. He had informed Moscow and they had advised him to proceed, with caution, but to respond to the call for assistance."

"Captain Dmitriev had followed his orders and had quickly set out for a section of the ice field where the pack ice was thin enough for him to surface, forcing the submarine up through the ice, and then he had sent a landing party ashore to investigate."

"Within a very short time the officer in charge of the shore party had reported back to the submarine that they had discovered three dead bodies on the ice. Two men and a woman."

"Oh God …." This anguished gasp came from Leigh Roland now.

Hawke raised his eyes from the Russian officer's face to offer her a sympathetic look and noted her pallor and her lovely amber eyes filling with tears. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but that would have to wait. Right now he needed to hear the rest of the Russian Colonel's story.

"I'm sorry, please go on …." Leigh Roland invited in a strangulated little voice, making a visible effort to control her emotions.

"It was a most curious situation. The officer in charge of the shore patrol reported that from the way the bodies had been discovered, their positions on the ice, it looked very much as if one of the men had been assaulting the woman, and then the two men had struggled and fought, a frenzied attack by both parties, inflicting terrible injuries upon each other before succumbing to exhaustion and finally dying of their wounds, or exposure …."

"Captain Dmitriev ordered the shore party to bring the bodies back to the submarine so that our medical officer could examine them and determine how they had died."

"The doctor later confirmed that the woman had indeed been assaulted, probably strangled in the act of …."

Chapayev suddenly stopped as he noted Leigh Roland's slight wince and offered her an apologetic look. After drawing in a soft, ragged breath, Leigh Roland nodded silently, encouraging him to continue, and the Russian man found himself admiring her greatly, knowing just how difficult any of this must be for her to hear.

"And from their injuries, it looked as if the two men had fought, their sole purpose to kill, or be killed. It seems that one of them had strangled the other with his bare hands and the other had sustained injuries to his internal organs that caused him to bleed internally, and he must have collapsed from exhaustion and then finally died from exposure …."

"Captain Dmitriev sent the men of the shore party back out, their orders to come to Whiteout Station to see if there were other survivors, and they made their way to here just as a storm was moving in. They found the same chaos and wanton destruction and death that you have described, but they also found four more scientists who seemed only to have the same kind of symptoms that you say we are all displaying now. They at least appeared to be quite lucid and rational …."

"The officer in charge of the shore party used his portable radio to contact Captain Dmitriev to explain what they had found, and the medical officer came on the radio and explained that he had found evidence of some kind of contagion in the bodies brought back from the ice, and he insisted that they destroy the station with fire in a bid to contain the disease."

"The shore party followed their orders and then they helped the scientists, three men and a woman, to return to the submarine, and then they responded to my request to retrieve us from the ice …."

"What happened then, Colonel?" Hawke prompted softly after a lengthy silence.

"The four scientists were checked over by our medical officer and assigned quarters, but two of them quickly began to deteriorate, experiencing breathing difficulties, and naturally the other two were agitated and concerned for their colleagues. We did not think it so unusual when they began to display great anger. We feared that they believed that we had taken them prisoner, instead of rescuing them, so it was only to be expected that they would make some fuss."

"Captain Dmitriev informed Moscow of their medical condition and that his men had destroyed what was left of the station. The medical officer explained the nature of the contagion he had discovered, but to Captain Dmitriev's surprise, he was ordered not to return to port, under any circumstances, until he was given explicit orders to do so …."

"They were afraid that you would bring the contagion ashore and infect your families …." Hawke interjected on a low voice.

"Da." Chapaeyv concurred succinctly. "However, the crew were not happy with their new orders. They were at the end of a very long tour of duty at sea and had been looking forward to returning to their homes for an extended period of shore leave while the submarine underwent routine dry dock maintenance. They grew restless and irritable. The captain dealt with the general unrest by running routine fire drills and emergency diving procedures, anything to keep the men occupied."

"We had only been out at sea for just over twenty four hours when the situation began to deteriorate. The scientists from Whiteout Station had all grown weak and even sicker, and the submarine's crewmen also began to fall ill, some with symptoms of influenza, but others …. Others became uncontrollable. Such rage. Such madness …. It seemed to spread through the boat like wildfire …."

"And then what happened?" Hawke pressed.

"There was an incident, in the engineering section. They were simulating a fire in engineering when one of the men seemed to lose his mind, and tried to disable the nuclear reactor, flooding half the forward compartments with radiation …."

"The only thing that Captain Dmitriev could do was surface and vent the submarine to try to disperse the radiation, but the damage had already been done. While we were getting the men up on deck and venting the radiation, someone disabled the radio, others activated two of the nuclear missiles and almost blew the boat out of the water before order was finally restored …."

"Mr Hawke, I knew that the submarine had been compromised, that there was no hope for the crew, and I had a responsibility for the safety of my own men. I spoke with Captain Dmitriev, explaining that my men and I were showing no signs of sickness and because of the location of our quarters on the submarine we had had the least exposure to the radiation …."

"I reasoned with him that someone had to try to reach Moscow, to advise them of what was happening, before they jumped to the wrong conclusion, that the submarine had been destroyed by enemy forces, or that in seeking medical assistance in America it was some kind of ruse to cover up the truth and that they were perhaps trying to defect."

"I suggested to him that if he put us off the submarine we could perhaps make our way to what was left of Whiteout Station and try to make contact with Moscow and advise them of the true nature of the situation."

"Together we decided to return to the co-ordinates closest to Whiteout Station. I knew that we would find food and shelter. I did not know how badly damaged the radio equipment was, but I had hoped that we might be able to find enough components to get it working …."

"So what happened to the sub?"

"There was nothing more that the captain could do. The boat was fatally contaminated with radiation; most of the crew had been exposed and those who were not dying of radiation sickness had succumbed to the contagion. The only thing he could do was take her to deeper water …. And scuttle her …."

Now Chapayev turned his attention to Leigh Roland who had been listening attentively to every word silently.

"It was a very difficult and very brave decision, one I personally did not envy Captain Dmitriev …. I am sorry Dr Roland, but that is how I am certain that your husband is surely dead. Either he was one of the two men found dead on the ice, or else he was one of the four people bought aboard the submarine …. Which is now somewhere at the bottom of the ocean …."

"So you and your men headed here, to the one place you knew you would at least find shelter. You'd already been exposed to the contagion, so coming here to Whiteout Station posed no greater threat to you …."

"That is correct, Mr Hawke. We decided to take our chances here on the ice. We had no way of knowing that the Americans had received word of what had happened here and had sent people of their own to investigate."

The look that Hawke now shared with Leigh Roland over Chapayev's head told of his suspicion and that he doubted that the man could have been so naïve as to believe that no-one from the American side would investigate the loss of contact with the scientists at Whiteout, but also that he accepted Chapayev's version of events and that once the submarine had been contaminated with radiation and the crew showed signs of infection from the contagion, the Colonel had made the right decision to disembark from the sub and to try to get to the one place that he knew that he and his men would find shelter and warmth and perhaps the means to make contact with their own people back in the USSR.

The only other place they could be sure that they would not infect more people if help did not arrive in time.

"Is there an antidote, Colonel?" Hawke pressed him for an answer now, but almost immediately the Russian officer was shaking his head.

"I have no idea, Mr Hawke …. And now that I know that what you have told me about the radio not working is correct, I have no way of determining that information," he let out a deep sigh and then raised his balled fist to his mouth to smother a cough.

"Well now, Colonel, things might not be as bad as they seem. Dr Roland here is more than just a pretty face, and just before you, er, dropped in, she had put forward quite a clever idea as to how we can overcome our communication difficulties."

Hawke offered Leigh Roland a gentle smile now, noting her pallor and the sorrow and grief in her soft teddy bear amber eyes, and he knew immediately that she was thinking about her husband and what Chapayev had just told them of his fate, and that of the other scientists missing from Whiteout Station.

Hawke then briefly explained what Leigh Roland had put forward to himself and Dominic Santini as a solution to their communication difficulties and watched as the Russian officer took in the details and mulled them over silently.

"What do you think, Colonel?"

"It might just work …."

"I think so too …." Hawke found himself grinning at Leigh Roland now, blessing her with a soft, sympathetic look. "So, what do you say, Colonel? Are you and your men willing to throw in your lot with us?"

"It seems that we have no other choice …. If we do not want to be considered as an hostile invasion force by your country. However, I must ask for your assurances that you will make it clear to your government that we sought sanctuary here for purely medical reasons, and that there is no question as to our loyalty, to our country and our government. We have and never did have any intention of defecting, Mr Hawke …." Chapayev clarified, his features schooled into a stern expression now.

"You got it, Colonel …." Hawke assured, although he could not help wondering if the boot had been on the other foot, and he and Dom and Leigh had sought medical assistance and sanctuary on Soviet soil if they would have ended up being paraded around Red Square as spies or potential defectors to the Motherland.

"I don't have much influence in Washington, but I promise you I will make it clear to anyone who will listen that you and your men sought medical assistance here and that there was never any doubt that you would return to Russia. From now on, we're all on the same side, so consider this neutral territory and this foul contagion our only enemy."

"Thank you."

"Now tell me, Colonel, are any of your men trained in electronics? We could use all the help you can give us right now …."

/a\

"Doc …." Dominic Santini struggled to raise himself up from his pillows as Leigh Roland drew up beside him; however she stilled him with a gentle hand to his shoulder and gave him a meaningful look as she gently pushed him back against his pillows and then reached out for his wrist to take his pulse.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm good, doc …." Santini panted breathlessly as he again tried to sit up. "I'm real good …." He added for good measure as he wary eyes darted around the room, taking in the activity going on all around them, an unmistakable look of concern and anxiety on his face as he watched Stringfellow Hawke directing the Russian Colonel to organize his men, leaning wearily against the back of a chair, slightly bent forward as he labored to drag precious air into his aching lungs.

"You gotta get me on my feet, doc …." Santini turned to fix Leigh Roland with unyielding grey eyes. "You gotta. I gotta help String …."

Leigh Roland closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh.

They were almost exactly the same words Hawke had uttered out of the corner of his mouth as they had watched Colonel Chapayev return to his men, and she had recognized the distrustful look in his eyes and the silent plea to keep him well and upright long enough to see him through to the peaceful conclusion of their predicament.

_**Honestly, what did they think she was? **_

_**A magician?**_

_**A miracle worker?**_

_**And for my next trick guys …..**_

"You've got to lie there and rest and save your strength, Dominic …."

"I mean it, doc!" Santini hissed vehemently through his teeth now, frantic eyes scanning the room and locating Hawke disappearing out through the swing fire door in the direction of the main accommodation block swiftly followed by a handful of the Russian soldiers.

"If you think I'm just gonna lie here and let String do all the donkey work, when I know he's feeling just as sick as I am …." Santini suddenly dropped his voice and Leigh Roland had to lean in a little closer to hear him now.

"And if you think for one split second I trust any one of these Ruskie fellas …. Use your eyes, doc …. We're kinda out numbered on our side of the border. They ain't selling caviar and vodka doc, and I know you're a smart kid. You can work it out for yourself …. If we get sicker and things go south on us. And if they get a good look inside the Lady …. I ain't gonna let no Commie touch my precious Lady!" Santini finished on a splutter as another coughing fit over took him, and Leigh Roland found herself fighting to keep the grin from spreading across her lips, despite her concern for his health.

"Take it easy, Dominic," Leigh Roland finally laid her hand against his shoulder once more and pulled the oxygen mask back down over his grey face. "You two, honestly, I'm not sure which one of you will be the death of me first!"

"You gotta get me out of this bed, girlie, so that I can help String …." Santini panted raggedly through the oxygen face mask, and now Leigh Roland let out a deep sigh of resignation as she noted the look of determination on his dear, rumpled old face.

It went against every instinct in her body, as a physician, but she also understood what Santini was thinking and feeling right now.

She wasn't entirely sure if she trusted the Russian Colonel, but she also understood that they had no choice but to accept that he and his men were as much victims of the present situation as she and Santini and Hawke were.

"You gotta make sure that we can keep some semblance of control, doc. You just gotta! When I think about Russian commandos being on American soil …."

"Alright, alright! 'Struth man, I get the picture, but I'm no miracle worker, Dominic. I will do my best, but, you have got to promise me that you will do as you are told, take your medicine, whatever it might be, and that you won't try to over do things, if and when I tell you it is ok for you to get out of this bed," Leigh wagged her finger under his nose and used her best don't argue with me tone of voice and reluctantly, Dominic Santini nodded in acceptance of her terms.

"Just get me off my duff and keep me on my feet long enough to help String get that cockamamie idea of yours off the ground, then I don't care if you put me to sleep for a month doc, once we're out of here and home free …."

"Dom, I don't know what you think I can do. I'm already doing the best I can with the limited resources I've got to hand, but …. I guess I could give you a shot of vitamin C and run some glucose through your IV for energy …."

"Whatever you think doc, just get me on my feet. I'll do the rest …."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter Twelve._**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Sixteen – Sunday, February 26th 1984._**

**_Approximately 2.30pm local time._**

"I am very sorry about your husband, Dr Roland …." Colonel Chapayev directed himself to Leigh Roland, keeping his tone low and neutral.

There had been much activity since the Colonel had summoned a handful of his men to help Hawke to go out to the out buildings and the labs to gather together the things they would need to try to send a message to the outside world, silently noting the good doctor's strong objections to the man Hawke going outside, and the stubborn way the man rejected her protests, his keen reptilian green eyes also observing the look Hawke gave to the woman, indicating that he did not entirely trust the new comers, and that he felt the need to keep a close eye on them, before giving her a gentle, reassuring squeeze to her shoulder.

Chapayev found himself both amused by and some what grudgingly, admiring the American pilot, Hawke.

In his place, he too would not have been completely trusting, but, Chapayev knew that the American was right when he had said that they needed each other, and that they had to work together if they were going to survive.

Still, under such circumstances, a little distrust was a healthy thing, Chapayev found himself thinking silently.

Hawke and his companions might be outnumbered, but they did have the high moral ground, Chapayev conceded. After all, this was still technically American soil, and if things were not handled very delicately, Chapayev did not doubt for one second that he and his men would feel the full might of the American's military bearing down on them, and get a first hand taste of the famous American justice system.

Chapayev also found himself suspecting that there was more to the relationship between the man Hawke and the doctor than had first met the eye, but he had kept his thoughts to himself as he watched the doctor turn her attention to the other, older American pilot.

It was none of his business, and the younger man had made it clear with the way he had looked at him earlier that the doctor was definitely out of bounds.

_**Such a pity ….**_

Chapayev was impressed with her professional attitude and the way she had handled herself from the beginning, and she was an extremely beautiful woman, so different to the women he was used to at home.

All gold and fire.

_**Yes, very interesting indeed, but alas ….**_

Now was neither the time nor the place for that kind of distraction.

Chapayev knew that he needed to keep all of his wits about him. He and his men might outnumber the others but it did not necessarily follow that they were in control of the situation.

They were all on very shaky ground.

Chapayev suspected that the man Hawke would be a formidable opponent, if provoked, but for now, he was more useful as an ally.

Chapayev was secretly ashamed of the lurid and lustful thoughts that had raced around his mind when he had first laid eyes on the pale golden beauty with those unusual and captivating eyes.

He would be the first to agree that he was a forceful man with a dominant personality, used to getting what he wanted, but he had never forced himself on a woman in his life, had never needed to resort to using his superior physical strength, for he also knew how to use charm and subtlety to persuade the women he desired to willingly succumb to his attentions.

No matter how tempting the delectable doctor might prove to be, she was not worth losing his life over, and bringing the wrath of Hawke down upon his head.

Whilst she was here at Whiteout Station, the good doctor was under Hawke's protection, and Chapayev suspected that the man took that responsibility seriously.

Deadly seriously.

Chapayev had quickly quashed the disgusting thoughts running riot in his mind, fearful that it was the first sign that he was succumbing to the madness, and had kept a rigid hold over his thoughts and his emotions since, silently praying that it had just been a moment's loss of control, an aberration brought about by fever and exhaustion, not a dire warning of the horror to come.

He was relieved to find himself much calmer and more in control of himself now that he and his men were out of the ravages of the storm and had been made welcome by the occupants of Whiteout Station.

"Thank you, Colonel …." Leigh looked up, somewhat distracted, from where she was updating Dominic Santini's chart.

It was the first chance she had got to update the record after giving him the shot of Vitamin C and setting up the IV glucose infusion, for almost immediately she had finished with Santini, Leigh had been called away to deal with another one of Chapayev's men who returning from another trip outside with Hawke had suddenly taken a turn for the worse and collapsed on the other side of the room.

After tending to the other man, Leigh had returned to Santini's bedside to check on the progress of the drip and to take his pulse and temperature, and now the older man was resting comfortably, surreptitiously watching everything that was going on around him whilst feigning sleep, and a frown was knitting her brow now as she realized that both of Santini's readings were slightly elevated.

However, she supposed silently, the sudden excitement at the arrival of their unexpected guests and the subsequent activity could account for it, then realized that the Russian officer was regarding her with an odd expression on his face.

"Colonel …. I'm sorry, I was concentrating …." She apologized and set down the chart, turning slightly to give the Russian officer her full attention. "Of course, you want to know how your man is?"

"Da," Chapayev confirmed, his pale green gaze moving to where the stricken man lay tucked up on his mattress on the other side of the room before returning to settle on Leigh Roland's pretty elfin face.

"I've made him comfortable for now, Colonel, but I'm afraid that's pretty much all I can do …. For any of us," Leigh told him regretfully. "I'll keep giving him medication, although I have no way of knowing how effective it is, and keep him hydrated with warm drinks, and hope that with a little rest, like Mr Santini, he will rally and start to feel a little better …."

"Thank you doctor. I know Roshenko appreciates your assistance, although he cannot tell you so himself."

"Colonel …. Could I ask a favor of you?" Leigh Roland spoke a little hesitantly, stopping Chapayev as he made to move away from her.

"You may ask, doctor, but I cannot guarantee an answer …."

"Just for the record, Colonel, could you identify the people who came aboard the submarine?" Leigh Roland asked, moving toward the Russian officer casually. "If I showed you a group photograph?"

"I could try …."

"Thank you. I would appreciate it …."

Chapayev pulled out the nearest chair and sat down while Leigh Roland crossed the recreation room on stiff legs, her destination the cork notice board on the other side of the room, where after rooting around under various notices and flyers that had been posted there for months; she finally put her hand on what she wanted.

It was a glossy eight by ten inch color photograph of everyone who had been stationed here at Whiteout, taken on a lovely, bright, clear sunny Saturday afternoon not so long ago, after one of their happier days spent having fun and letting their hair down on the ice.

Leigh recalled the day vividly and suddenly could not stop the tears from stinging in her eyes as she took in the happy, familiar smiling faces of her friends and colleagues, noting with sad irony that the only person missing from the group photograph was herself, as at the last minute, she had been delegated to take the group shot when the automatic timer had failed.

Leigh felt her heart beat a little faster and a shudder run down the length of her spine as she found herself wondering if it had been some kind of omen.

Some kind of prophecy.

It was so hard to believe that they were all gone.

Dead.

She was the only one left.

Leigh carefully took down the photograph with obviously shaking fingers and then after taking in a deep, calming breath, forced her stiff legs to carry her back across the recreation room to the Russian officer, holding the picture out to him, watching his face closely for his reaction as he laid it down on the table before him.

Colonel Chapayev immediately twisted around in his chair and leaned in closer to get a better look as she came up to stand beside him.

"Do you recognize anyone?" Leigh Roland's voice was a mere whisper now as her amber eyes bore into the Russian man's closed features.

"Da. This one …." Chapayev raised his finger and pointed out a grinning man in the center of the group and Leigh Roland also leaned in a little closer, immediately recognized him as Bjorn Christiansen.

"This one …." Chapayev moved his finger over the photograph and again pointed out the familiar, smiling countenance of Torben Eriksen.

"These were the men found dead on the ice, with this woman …." His finger traveled over the photograph once more until it stopped at the pretty, smiling face of Dr Sheila Murray.

"Oh God …." Leigh Roland gasped in anguish as she realized the full implication behind the Russian officer's words.

_**Oh God …. **_

_**Poor Sheila ….**_

_**And poor Bjorn and Torben ….**_

Who would have thought that either of those sweet young men would have been capable of molesting any woman, much less Sheila Murray, someone they had come to care for as a friend and older sister?

"And this one …."

Mindful of her pained reaction, Chapayev regarded her with questioning eyes, waiting for her nod, before moving his finger to point out another grinning woman and Leigh Roland immediately recognized her pretty face.

It was Inga Bergstrom.

"And him …."

Now Chapayev singled out a man Leigh Roland recognized as Daniel Smith before quickly moving on, probably hoping to spare her more pain, although he must surely know that for her, the worst was still to come.

"This man …."

He now pointed to a tall, lanky figure at the far end of the group, smiling shyly at the camera, ever careful to conceal the metal braces he wore on his teeth, face framed by his fur lined Parka coat hood, however Leigh Roland had no trouble identifying him as Barry Payne.

"And him …."

Finally, Chapayev's finger came to rest beside the familiar face of her beloved husband Dr Gregory Chandler, mop of fine brown hair falling in his eyes, grinning like an idiot for the camera, crossing his eyes and pulling a funny face, purely for her benefit behind the camera lens, trying to make her laugh so that her hand would shake ….

Leigh Roland felt the blood run cold in her veins.

_**Oh baby ….**_

_**Poor baby ….**_

_**I'm sorry ….**_

_**So sorry …**_

"These were the four people brought back to the submarine by the shore party, doctor," Colonel Chapayev confirmed, noting the sorrow and pain in the young woman's unusual eyes, and was sure that one of the men he had pointed out was indeed her missing husband. "I am sorry, doctor …."

"Yes, well …. Thank you …." Leigh Roland spoke absently in a low, soft voice. "It means a lot …. At least now I will be able to tell their families something of what happened to them …. If …. When …." She stammered, tripping over her tongue as she fought to contain her grief. "When we get out of this …."

Suddenly, both Leigh Roland's and Colonel Chapayev's attention was drawn to a commotion on the other side of the room, where the majority of the Russian commandos were sitting huddled around the space heater, both responding to the abrupt sound of young voices raised in anger, sharp, accusing tones, and although Leigh Roland did not understand one word of Russian, she understood the implication behind that tone of voice, watching with shock and horror, frozen to the spot as the scene before her swiftly unfolded.

Two very agitated young men were rising to their feet, shouting angrily into each other's faces, shoving each other and swinging with their fists as they snarled and screamed at each other in the harsh, foreign language, then abruptly, one of the young men was reaching out for his weapon, and a split second later a shot rang out, deafeningly loud in the confined space of the recreation room, and Leigh Roland watched, a startled, horrified expression fixed on her face, as blood erupted from a wound on the other young man's shoulder, then let out a scream as a third young man, reacting purely on instinct, also reached out for his weapon and in one fluid movement raised it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Instantly, the young man who had fired the first shot was recoiling backward as the bullet from the second weapon pierced his skull and embedded its self deep inside his brain, spewing back blood and bone and brain tissue in a fine spray in the still air, and then he crumpled, dead even before he hit the ground.

Colonel Chapayev, immediately rising to his feet, responded instantly, barking out orders to the rest of his men who immediately reacted, some of them rushing to disarm the men who had fired the fatal shot, although he was in the process of lowering his weapon even as they did so, a look of shock and horror at what he had done on his handsome, bloodless face, and the others going to the aid of their wounded comrade.

There was much confusion and heated words exchanged in the minutes that followed, all in fast, guttural and totally unintelligible Russian, as Leigh Roland finally recovered her wits, and after sharing a look of shock with Dominic Santini, checking that he was alright and trying to reassure him that although she was shaken and appalled by what she had just witnessed, she was alright too, the doctor reached out and scooped up her medical bag as she rushed to see what she could do for the wounded man.

_**Ohmygod …. **_

_**Ohmygod …. **_

_**Is this how it is going to be from now on?**_

_**Madness ….**_

_**Oh no …. **_

_**No! **_

_**Please!**_

Reigning in her errant thoughts and getting hold of her over heated emotions, Leigh Roland set about examining the wounded commando and quickly determined that it was a clean wound, the bullet having passed right through, and luckily for the young man, had avoided any major blood vessels and nerves on the way.

While she tended to the wounded man, Colonel Chapayev restored order to his men, then after ascertaining exactly what had happened, looking just as shocked and alarmed by what had just occurred, he approached an equally startled Leigh Roland, his concern for his wounded comrade clear on his face.

"How is he?" The colonel asked after greeting the young man in Russian, his tone slightly less abrasive and his expression softening just a little as the young man responded smartly, bravely trying to hide the true extent of his pain and shock from his commanding officer.

"He'll live," Leigh Roland responded succinctly through clenched teeth as she worked to finish bandaging the young man's wounded shoulder. "He's very lucky. The bullet passed right through, but didn't damage anything vital on the way. What the hell happened!" She demanded, raising her eyes from her task, briefly, fixing the Russian Colonel with fiery amber eyes then instantly drawing in a startled gasp as she saw the undisguised confusion and fear in his strange, reptilian eyes.

The Russian officer made no response, save to raise his left shoulder slightly in a shrug, and Leigh Roland knew that he was thinking exactly the same thing that she had been thinking only a few moments before.

_**So it begins.**_

_**The madness ….**_

"Dammit Colonel, now will you do as Hawke asked and disarm your men!" Leigh seethed, her voice rising in both pitch and volume, and at almost exactly the same moment, an angry and anxious snow covered Stringfellow Hawke stumbled in through the swing fire doors, breathing hard, horrified, distrusting blue eyes darting around the room, taking in the scene before him as four equally terrified and belligerent Russian commando's followed hot on his heels, weapons already drawn, each man selecting a target even before he came to a halt, and again Leigh Roland, Dominic Santini and Stringfellow Hawke found themselves with Russian AK-74's leveled at their heads.

Much to Leigh Roland's relief, Colonel Chapayev was immediately barking out orders to his men, to lower their weapons, or so she hoped, and then the new arrivals were fixing their attention on their commanding officer, listening intently as he gave a brief explanation of the situation, and his men finally responded by lowering their weapons.

"Colonel?" Hawke turned his attention to Chapayev now, eyes demanding an explanation.

"The situation is under control Mr Hawke," The Colonel assured. "I have explained that it is the sickness …."

"I warned you this could happen," Hawke reminded, dragging in ragged breaths and wincing at the pain he was feeling in his burning lungs and ribs, his leg muscles burning and quivering like jelly as he tried to recover himself from the sprint from outside in response to the sound of gunfire.

One look around the recreation room had told him everything that he needed to know, and that his worst fears were being realized.

"Indeed you did," Chapayev conceded gruffly. "You have my sincerest apologies, Dr Roland, Mr Hawke …. I have ordered my men to relinquish their weapons and ammunition to you, and trust that you will ensure that they are placed well out of harms way."

And to prove his point, the Colonel took his own weapon from where it hung over his shoulder and handed it over to Stringfellow Hawke, along with several clips of ammunition which had been concealed in the pockets of his winter camouflage gear.

"Thank you …." Hawke took the AK-74 and checked the chamber, relieved to find that it was not loaded, then set it down on the nearest table, along with the ammunition.

"I deeply regret …."

"Yeah. I'm sorry for your loss, Colonel …." But Hawke's tone of voice hinted that he was aware that it could have been much worse.

"Is there somewhere we can put the body?"

"Sickbay," Leigh Roland sighed heavily, recalling that Shane Preston's body was still lying there. "If you can wait just a minute, I'll show you …."

"You are most gracious, doctor, but my men and I will find it. You have patients to attend to here."

"How is the other young man?" Leigh Roland enquired, gaze drifting over to where the young man who had fired the fatal head shot sat in a chair surrounded by his nervous comrades, face colorless and a shocked expression on his face.

"A little shaken by his actions, but he knows that he did not have any other choice but to act as he did. He could not take the risk that his comrade would turn the weapon on others."

"Yeah. I guess you're right, but I'd still like to take a look at him, when I'm done here …."

"Of course. Naturally you wish to make sure that he is not experiencing the madness also …."

"It doesn't hurt to be vigilant, Colonel …."

/a\

"You ok?" Stringfellow Hawke asked once Chapayev had taken his leave, moving quickly toward Leigh Roland, eyes seeking out Dominic Santini over her shoulder to reassure him self that his old friend was safe and sound and still in one piece before settling on Leigh Roland's white face.

However, before she had a chance to respond, Hawke was suddenly pitching forward, overwhelmed by dizziness, his legs finally giving way beneath him and it was only Leigh Roland's quick wits that saved him from a heavy fall as she reached out and caught him, cushioning his fall with her body.

"Dammit Hawke, that's it! You're crook for God's sake …."

"Crook?" Hawke raised his eyes to her now, trying to get his balance in the process, a wry half smile on his lips as his brain translated the word for him and he found himself thinking that that must be the understatement of the decade.

"Sick …." Leigh translated for him now although she knew damned well that he understood what she was saying, her tawny eyes wide and spitting flames she was so incensed, beside herself with anger and concern for him, and despite the fact that he felt absolutely wretched, Hawke was genuinely touched by her concern for him, and amused by her quaint Aussie turn of phrase.

"Actually, I'm beginning to wonder if you're not just plain crazy! You're only human Hawke, and you can't keep going on like this!" Leigh hissed as she somehow managed to guide him down into a chair, taking in his pallor and the way that his body was shaking with fatigue and fever, and more than a little grateful to have something else to concentrate on than the horrible turn in events and the confirmation that her husband, Gregory Chandler, was indeed dead.

"I have work to do …." Hawke reminded her in between quick, ragged breaths.

"You can't do everything yourself, and if you don't get some rest and take your meds …. Dammit, Hawke, you've got to be reasonable! I can't help you if you won't help yourself …."

There were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes now, and Hawke began to realize just how frightened she really was.

He spotted the glossy photograph on a nearby table, a group shot of the occupants of Whiteout Station, smiling happily for the camera, and quickly putting two and two together, realized that she must have shown the picture to the Russian Colonel, so that he could identify the people he had seen brought aboard the submarine, and Hawke didn't need to be psychic to know what else the man had told her.

She was also exhausted and it was beginning to show in the fine lines around her eyes and the weary set of her shoulders, as well as the uncharacteristic slip in control over her emotions, and he found himself wondering just how sick she was starting to feel.

"I'm ok, Leigh," Hawke assured, although he knew that it was far from the truth. "I can't stop now ...."

The look on his face told her clearly that he understood that the situation had changed, and not for the better, that the thing that they had feared most was now a distinct possibility, and they no longer had any choice.

They both had the answer to her earlier question, about whether things had gotten better or worse.

"We're out of time, Leigh. We have got to make contact with Archangel but fast, and you have got to keep me going, Leigh. I'm relying on you …."

"And I keep telling everyone I'm not a miracle worker!" Leigh's voice caught in her throat and now a lone tear slid from between her lashes and trickled slowly down her pale cheek.

"I know, Leigh," Hawke conceded in a low, gruff voice, fighting back the need to cough. "Do what you can, and leave the rest to me …."

"Famous last words …."

"Huh?"

"Mr Santini said the same thing not half an hour ago …." Leigh offered Hawke a weak smile now and swatted the tear away just before it dripped off her chin. "And you know what? I think it's just possible that you are both crazy enough and stubborn enough to pull it off."

"And you wouldn't have us any other way," Hawke smirked then finally succumbed to the coughing reflex.

"What am I going to do with you?" Leigh regarded him with big, luminous, anxious amber eyes when he recovered from the coughing fit, her love for him, and her concern for him shining out from those beautiful tawny orbs.

"I'm sure you'll think of something …."

"Don't tempt me," she warned, a wry half smile tugging at the corner of her mouth now. "But right now, I want you to go lie down and get some rest …."

"Leigh …."

"You're exhausted, and last time I checked, I'm still the doctor around here, Hawke. If you want me to work miracles, you have to give me a little leeway. I'm only asking you to lie down and rest for a while so that I can run some glucose through an IV line and give you a shot of Vitamin C, same as I gave Dom …."

It sounded perfectly reasonable, Hawke silently conceded but he simply did not have time to lie around doing nothing.

The weather was once again against them, but there were still things that they could be doing to set up the experiment with the weather balloons and the walkie talkies so that as soon as the storm cleared they could try to make contact with the outside world.

"After that, feel free to knock yourself out …." Leigh continued, watching the thoughts racing through Hawke's mind and couldn't help thinking that she was wasting her breath.

"Dammit Hawke, I'm serious! You've got to give your body a chance to recover. It won't take long, and you might just feel better when I'm done …."

She was losing patience with him now and this more than anything gave Hawke reason to pause and seriously consider what she was saying.

Her concerns for him were very real, and there was no getting away from the fact that Leigh did have a valid point.

Much as he hated to admit it, he was only human after all.

Truth be told, he couldn't feel much worse than he did right now, and even he had to accept that he could not go on forever.

He was on the point of collapse and his body needed time to recover.

All Leigh was really wanted was to do as he had asked of her, to keep him on his feet and able to function so that he could continue to protect all of them.

The least he could do was take her advice and do as she told him.

"Ok Leigh …." Hawke acquiesced with a deep, shoulder raising sigh and reached out to give her hand a gentle squeeze, offering her a soft, apologetic smile at the same time. "I know you're right, but …."

"But you're worried that if you show even the slightest weakness, let down your guard, for even a second, our Russian friends will turn it to their advantage."

"Yeah. Right …."

"That's crazy Hawke. Even you have to sleep some time …."

"Just get on with it, Leigh. Time's a'wastin'…."

Now his tone was impatient, his eyes wondering, following the Russian commando's as under instruction from Colonel Chapayev, half a dozen of them carried the dead man across the recreation room and out through the swing fire doors.

"Ok Hawke. I'm not promising anything, but I will do what I can to keep you upright. Just don't undo all my good work by trying to be Superman and do everything yourself. Let Chapayev and his men help, if they can. Idle hands and all that …."

She offered him a weak smile now, squeezing his hand gently in return.

"Besides if they have something to concentrate on, it might just stop them from worrying about how sick we really all are …."

_**And which one of us might just go loco next …. **_

She added silently to herself, her gaze drifting to the slowly growing stack of AK-74 rifles as each of the commando's relinquished their weapons and ammunition, adding them to Colonel Chapayev's.

"Ok. You got a deal. Just give me a few minutes to supervise our guests while they put their weapons in the Armory …."

Leigh nodded slowly, drawing in a ragged breath, knowing that it would take her a minute or two to set up what she needed, suddenly grateful for an excuse to return to sickbay to make sure that the Russians hadn't disturbed anything when they stowed their comrade's body there.

"Fifteen minutes, Hawke …. Fifteen minutes. If you don't show, I'll come looking for you and it won't be Vitamin C in the hypodermic syringe, I promise you …. And I won't be afraid to use it either …."

/a\

"Relax Colonel …." Leigh Roland spoke in a low, gruff voice as she walked slowly toward the Russian officer, responding to the curious and wary look on the man's face as his eyes sought out and found Stringfellow Hawke, lying on the mattress beside Dominic Santini, eyes closed, face pinched with fatigue and pain, hooked up to an IV drip from which hung bags of fluids and glucose, as he labored to move air in and out of his aching, failing lungs.

The minute the Russian officer and his men had returned to the recreation room after the Colonel had finished supervising his men as they brought the equipment and supplies they had been helping Hawke to locate around the station and the outbuildings, Chapayev had spotted Hawke and Leigh Roland had immediately seen the concern and anxiety clouding his face.

"Is Mr Hawke …. Worse?" Chapayev enquired, trying to keep his tone of voice casual, but after recent events, he was growing more wary and suspicious.

"He's fine …." Leigh Roland placated, catching hold of the Russian officer's elbow, hoping to steer him away from where Hawke was finally resting.

"Please, doctor …." Chapayev cut her off and gently shrugged off her hand. "Do not take me for a fool."

"Colonel Chapayev, there is absolutely no chance of that happening, I assure you."

Leigh Roland's tone was sarcastic now as she wearily lowered herself into the nearest chair and, scrubbing at her tired, itchy eyes, let out a weary sigh.

She had been hoping for a few minutes to herself after setting Hawke up on the IV, a few minutes respite to catch her breath and take the weight off her aching feet.

She was feeling hot and feverish, miserable and bone weary, and had decided that it was time she took a little of her own advice and gave her body a chance to rest and recover.

She could not help thinking that she still had much work ahead of her, and if she didn't slow down and take a minute for herself, she would not be fit enough to help anyone else in the hours to come.

Her throat was sore and her head was pounding so badly she could barely focus because of pain and lack of sleep and now there was a niggling ache making its self felt in the small of her back, and a sharp, stabbing pain in her chest every time she drew in a deep breath ….

How much of what she was feeling was due to the contagion, or simply because she was tired and sleep deprived, Leigh did not like to guess. All she knew was that if she didn't take a few minutes rest soon it would be out of her hands, her body overruling her stubborn pride.

She also had not had a minute to herself to come to terms with the truth about Gregory Chandler's fate, and her true feelings about it, but maybe that was no bad thing. She could not afford to lose control of her emotions now.

There would be plenty of time in the future, to grieve properly for her husband.

Right now, it was easier not to have to feel anything at all.

She had told Hawke that deep down in her heart she had always known that Greg was dead, but so much had happened since then that she had really begun to hope once more that somehow he had managed to survive.

Now there seemed to be no doubt that he too had perished along with the crew of the Russian submarine, somewhere out there at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean.

There was nothing that she could do for him now, but there was plenty that she could do for Hawke, Santini, the Russians and herself, and she needed to keep herself under control until it was over, one way or the other.

"There is no-one in this room who would under estimate either you, or your men, Colonel," she sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose with her index and middle finger, then returned to rubbing her sore, tired eyes.

"I am glad that we understand each other, doctor. You are a wise woman."

Chapayev took in her weary stance, her deflated manner and exhausted body language, but the look she fixed him with when she stopped rubbing her eyes at last, warned him that despite appearances to the contrary, she was not defeated, and would continue to fight until the last breath left her body.

"Mr Hawke …."

"Is fine, as I have already told you. Exhausted and dehydrated, stubborn and pig headed and determined to fight me and ignore my good advice, but aside from being one of the most irritating and obstinate men I have ever had the misfortune to encounter, he is no worse than before you arrived. He's determined to get on with fixing the radio so I'm giving him fluids and glucose, and toying with the idea of breaking a chair over that thick skull of his to knock him out so that he will get at least a little rest …."

This bought the ghost of a smile to the Russian man's lips now, and Leigh Roland watched as he visibly relaxed, just a little, the tension going out of his spine and shoulders as he drew in a long, cleansing breath and expelled it slowly.

"How are you and your men, Colonel?"

Now it was Leigh Roland's turn to keep her tone causal, but she could see from the sudden narrowing of his eyelids that the Russian understood perfectly what she was really asking.

In response, Chapayev offered her a vague, half shrug.

"Vigilant, doctor. Always vigilant …."

Leigh Roland nodded in silent understanding.

"My men have finished bringing in the equipment. Is it alright if I consult with Mr Hawke as to how to proceed?" The Colonel grew businesslike once more.

"Sure, Colonel. Sure. Just keep it brief …."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter Thirteen._**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Seventeen – Monday, February 27th 1984._**

**_Approximately 9.30am local time._**

"Leigh …."

Stringfellow Hawke carefully hunkered down beside Leigh Roland as she lay sleeping on her mattress, and leaned in close to her ear, whispering her name softly, whilst resisting the urge to gently brush away a tuft of hair from her sleep flushed cheek. However despite his care she still jerked awake with a start.

"Easy doc, everything's fine," Hawke assured her, giving her shoulder another gentle, reassuring squeeze before moving back from her, giving her a moment to shake off the shroud of sleep and to gather her wits.

Somewhat dazed and groggy it took the doctor a moment to realize where she was and then she let out a soft little moan as the memories rushed back, along with all her aches and pains, as she struggled to raise herself up on her elbow a little on the mattress.

"G'day …." Her voice was deep and croaky, and the amber eyes she settled on Hawke were bright with fever and red rimmed despite the hours of sleep and as soon as she drew in a slightly deeper breath she was coughing again.

"Morning," Hawke returned her greeting in an equally low and gruff voice, unable to hide his concern for her as he watched her cough so badly she heaved and almost gagged.

If Hawke had harbored any lingering doubts that she wasn't suffering from the same thing that he and the other men were, they were suddenly all gone.

She was sick, and not just with the Chicken Pox. Maybe she was not quite as sick as the rest of them, but whatever it was that had been affording her some protection up to now was no longer effective.

"We're ready," Hawke told her simply, knowing that it wasn't a moment too soon, and was instantly rewarded with a flash of relief and excitement in those fever bright eyes when she stopped coughing at last.

"You look like hell, Hawke …." She observed dryly

Finally getting her breath back, Leigh reached out and lightly caressed his cheek with slender fingers, wincing slightly as they came into contact with the scratchy layer of bluish purple stubble that clung to his cheek and jaw, and which matched the dark purple smudges that looked like bruises beneath his eyes, a wry smile curving at the corner of her lips as his features slid into a scowl now.

"Take a look in the mirror some time, Leigh …."

"And get another seven years bad luck?" She chuckled softly, taking back her hand and using it to rub the sleep out of her eyes, then moved her head gently from side to side to relieve the kinked muscles as she carefully inched forward and swung her legs over the side of the mattress now.

After the IV fluids and glucose had finished dripping into Hawke's arm and he had grudgingly rested for roughly an hour, Leigh had removed the drip and Hawke had gone to join Dominic Santini and the Russian commandos on the other side of the recreation room where they were trying to work out how to connect the walkie talkie radios and the weather balloons together and then how they were going to match them up with Airwolf's radio circuitry.

However, before he had left her, Hawke had told Leigh that he wanted her to be with him when he tried to make contact with Archangel, as she would be able to advise on their general medical condition and the medical supplies and provisions they would need, and then he had insisted that Leigh try to get some rest.

It made sense to him for her to try to get some sleep while the others worked, however, Leigh had only agreed after making Hawke promise to wake her if anyone took a serious turn for the worse during the night.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" She asked with genuine concern now, taking in his pained, pinched expression and the rapid way he was panting, dragging in air in shallow gulps but getting no relief or benefit from his efforts, breathless and wheezing loudly.

"You, Sleeping Beauty, got enough for the both of us," Hawke smirked now.

"Hawke …."

"Dom and I spelled each other," he told her with a heavy sigh and Leigh understood that he had wanted at least one of them to be awake at all times, to supervise the Russian's, to make sure that they did not try to sabotage their work on the radio equipment, although Leigh doubted that the thought had even crossed Colonel Chapayev's mind.

It was as much in his best interests to make the contraption work and to make contact with the outside world, to find out if there was an antidote to this contagion, as it was to Hawke and Santini and herself.

"How is every body?" Leigh asked, her eyes now roaming around the recreation room and growing wide with shock as they settled on the mattresses on the other side of the room where four of Colonel Chapayev's men were resting, with IV's dripping into their arms, and Hawke found him self smiling gently, not surprised that her first thoughts were for her patients.

He also knew that he could not lie to her.

"They're ok, Leigh," he tried to reassure her. "They're just exhausted and running a fever. One of Chapayev's men has some medical training and he checked them out when they keeled over. He told Chapayev that he could handle giving them drugs and setting up the IV fluids so there was no need to disturb you …."

"What time is it?" Leigh demanded, her gaze drifting over Hawke's shoulder to the window on the other side of the room, a look of irritation settling on her face and her eyes grew a little wider when she realized that it was broad daylight outside.

"Crickey! Why the hell didn't you wake me sooner! Dammit Hawke, you should have woken me!"

"Chapayev's man had it under control, and frankly I think that the Colonel prefers that one of his own men deal with the situation, that his men are cared for by someone familiar, who can reassure them in their own language," Hawke told her matter of factly.

"You were exhausted, Leigh," Hawke added, softening his tone slightly now, indicating that he had only had her best interests at heart. "And I thought it best to let you get some rest while you could. I have a feeling that you are going to be quite busy and have your hands full some time soon …. Which ever way this thing goes."

"Does it work?"

Leigh changed the subject now, an edge of irritation in her voice, although she knew that Hawke had a valid point.

She also did not want to dwell on the negative outcome of Hawke's call to the outside world, her gaze drifting across the room to where the rest of the Russians, under instruction from Dominic Santini, with Colonel Chapayev translating, were gathering together their night's work and heading out of the door.

"We're about to find out," Hawke's gaze followed Leigh's and he rolled his eyes heavenward briefly, in exasperation, as he watched the men on the other side of the room wrestling to get through the swing fire doors without destroying the delicate end result of their long and frustrating night.

"We decided that it would probably be better if we waited for daylight so that we could actually see what we are doing out there …." He grinned shyly now.

Hawke watched as a frown settled on Leigh's elfin features as she took in the angry bearing of the Russian Colonel, his wild gesticulating and the sharp, snatched way he was barking out orders to his men.

"What's wrong with Chapayev? He doesn't look too happy …." Leigh noted, taking in the sour expression on the Russian officer's face.

"He's not," Hawke confirmed succinctly. "Aside from the fact that his men are dropping like flies, and he's fighting to keep it together …."

There was a slightly ominous note in Hawke's voice now, and Leigh Roland felt her heart trip in her breast as she wondered if he was speculating that the man was succumbing to symptoms of paranoia or incontrollable rage.

_**Calm down and don'**__**t jump to conclusions, idiot! **_She told herself sternly, but still gave Hawke a deep, questioning look. However, all he did was lift his eyebrow and slightly raise one shoulder in response before continuing.

"He kinda got the impression that he was going to come with me to make the call and got a little bent out of shape when I told him _**my**_ helicopter was strictly off limits to him and his men. I made it clear that Dom and I will be the ones hooking her circuits up while he and his men stay outside and keep an eye on the balloons."

"I bet that went down well …."

"Like a lead balloon …. Pardon the pun," Hawke allowed his features to slide into a smile, hoping to relieve some of the tension he could see in Leigh Roland's eyes now.

"He got a little bolshie and insisted that he be there when I made the call out, but I reminded him that if our guys hear someone with a Russian accent on the other end of the line, demanding to speak with someone at the Kremlin, they might just jump to the wrong conclusion and instead of sending help, they might just send in the troops, and none of us want that. He got the picture."

"Wise man."

"I can be quite persuasive when I want to be …." Hawke smirked now and Leigh Roland could well imagine Hawke's methods of persuasion. "I also told him you were the one who would be joining me in the cockpit, as our people out there would need specific medical details which only you can supply. He didn't like it, but I guess he knew he had to accept it."

"Get the feeling our Russian friend doesn't trust you?"

"Only about as far as he could throw me," Hawke smirked again. "And I trust him about as far as I can spit …."

"Charming!" Leigh grinned, knowing that Stringfellow Hawke was just too much of a gentleman to do something that disgusting and anti social in public, and that it was his way of telling her that he trusted the Russian officer not one jot.

"Want some coffee?"

"Not particularly, but if that is all that's on offer …."

"It is. Unless you think you could face canned vegetable soup for breakfast?"

"Yuk!"

"That's something else I need you for, Leigh, to figure out what we need to stock the kitchen. I figure these heaters will be out of gas soon and the replacement stuff we bought in yesterday won't last forever. We're using more light too. If by some miracle we do get out of this …."

"Cynic …." Leigh cut in, rolling her eyes heavenward, but she was still smiling softly.

"Realist, more like," Hawke threw her an impatient look. "In the event that we _**don't**_ all die, there'll be a lot of hungry mouths to feed and bodies to keep warm…." He concluded gruffly.

"Don't sweat it, Hawke. I have a feeling that it won't matter much either way …."

This drew a somewhat startled look from her companion now, and Leigh Roland reached out and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Now who's being cynical?"

"Relax String, I didn't mean …. Look, my guess is, if there is an antidote, once it has been administered they will want to evacuate us to some quarantine center away from here pretty quickly, so that they can monitor our condition and make sure that we're not going to infect the rest of the world when we leave there," she told him softly.

"And if there isn't an antidote?"

"Then I guess we won't need to worry. Take your pick. The contagion, hypothermia, starvation, madness …."

"Our own version of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Terrific …."

"Hawke …. If we do come through this, before we leave here, I would like to go back to the research labs and gather together my friend's personal belongings. I know that they will have to go through quarantine with us and be tested to make sure that they are clear of the contagion, but I would like to take something back, to give to their families."

Hawke found himself suddenly recalling the sketchbook he had seen in the meteorologists' lab and the items of jewelry that had helped Leigh Roland to identify several of the corpses they had discovered, and although he didn't relish the idea of returning to the burned out building, he understood what drove Leigh's need to go back.

The families of the dead would have some small keepsake, some small reminder of the significance of their lives to hold on to, and when she delivered these things to those families, Leigh Roland would give them someone to focus their understandable anger on, someone to demand answers from, to demand to know why this terrible thing had happened, someone to share the grief and the anger and the pain with, and someone to offer them some small measure of comfort, even if in the end she could give them no real answers.

He also thought that it was a positive sign that she was thinking of the future.

"Sure," he told her softly, but could not stop his thoughts from wandering to his own future, and what, if any, part Leigh Roland would play in it.

Hawke realized that Leigh must have seen something in his expression, but obviously misread it as his having doubts that they would get away from Whiteout Station alive, as she now reached out for his hand once more to give it another reassuring squeeze.

"Chin up, Cobber. We've come this far …. Don't quit on me. We can't lose hope now …."

"Leigh …." Hawke grew hesitant now, and Leigh found herself frowning at him, surprised by his sudden shyness and reticence.

"Hawke?"

"I guess now isn't the right time …." He faltered.

"C'mon, spit it out," she invited, eyeing him curiously now, amused at his sudden coyness.

"I'm sorry about your husband …. Greg," he kept his tone low and sincere and he watched with genuine sympathy as Leigh briefly dropped her gaze from his face and let out a gentle sigh.

"Thanks, but you're right. Now isn't the right time. I know you mean it Hawke, but right now I have to focus on the living, and making sure we all make it out of here," she told him as she raised her head once more and regarded him with steady, knowing eyes. "But that wasn't what you really wanted to say, was it, Hawke?"

"Well, I guess …. I was just wondering what your plans are, if we get out of here that is …."

"That's _**when**_ we get out of here, Hawke. _**When**_ …. Not _**if**_ …." She told him in a tone of defiance now. "And to answer your question …. I don't know …."

Leigh let out a soft sigh and hung her head briefly before lifting it to look him straight in the eye once more.

"I haven't given it much thought," she told him honestly.

"You could come home with Dom and me," Hawke offered, his eyes meeting hers now with equal sincerity. "I have a cabin, up in the mountains, on Eagle Lake," he explained. "I already asked Dom to come stay over for a while, until we're both back on our feet. You'd be more than welcome to join us," he invited in a soft voice.

"It's quiet and peaceful, beautiful and very remote. Just the kind of place to rest up and get well. Lots of clean, fresh, mountain air and breath taking scenery. No-one would bother you …."

Hawke paused, briefly, panting raggedly and Leigh continued to watch him with genuine concern now, and deeply touched by his thoughtfulness and the sincerity of his offer.

"There's plenty of room. You could stay as long as you like. Dom and I would be away working most of the day at the hangar anyway, and you'd have all the time and space you need …."

Hawke's voice trailed away as saw tears glistening in her eyes now.

"Well, just think about it …."

"Thank you. I will. Really, Hawke …." She assured, squeezing his hand one more time. "Fair dinkum …." Leigh fixed him with big, compelling eyes.

"Fair dinkum, huh?" Hawke's expression softened a little, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

He understood.

Fair dinkum to her meant something like honest 'injun, or cross her heart, did to him, and he knew that she was telling him that she would give it some serious thought and then let him know her decision when the time was right.

Hawke realized that it had been expecting a little too much from her to give him an answer right away.

He had kind of put her on the spot, although the invitation had been heart felt and well intentioned.

For now it was enough that he had made the offer, and that Leigh knew that there was a place that she could go, to heal, physically and emotionally and to get over all the recent upset and turmoil, where no-one would bother her or pressure her, while she came to terms with her new status, as a widow, and tried to decide what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

"Oh God, I could use a gallon of coffee …." Leigh deliberately changed the subject now, carefully stretching the aching muscles in her neck, shoulders and lower back.

She did not want to think about the future. The present would require all her time and energy and concentration, as she had already told him. After that, who knew ….

One thing Leigh did know, now was not the time to be making long term, possibly life altering plans.

"Dom thought that you'd say that. He's just put on a fresh pot, just for you."

"Bless him," Leigh's smile grew a little wider. "Are you sure you two are up to this?"

"I'm sure." Now Hawke's tone was defiant.

"Then don't let me get in your way …."

"How long do you think you'll need to check out supplies?"

Hawke grew businesslike again now, rising to his feet a little unsteadily, undermining what he had just told Leigh about being well enough to do what needed to be done with the radio equipment, and he gave her a wry half smile as he drew back from her so that Leigh could stand, watching as she levered herself up, rocking a little on her heels before gingerly testing her legs to make sure that they would take her weight, ready to reach out and support her if they did not.

"Dom and I are going to finish off working on the radio link in Airwolf while Chapayev and his men fill the balloons and get them airborne. Do you think that will give you enough time to make an inventory of all the supplies we might need to see this thing through to the end?"

"I guess …." Leigh drew in a deep breath and expelled it carefully, feeling the tickle of air bite at the back of her throat and the muscles there contract reflexively. "If I just stick to the basics."

"Good. Keep it simple, after all, if you're right, we might only be here for a little while longer," Hawke watched her fight back the desire to cough as she now brought her hand up to rub it roughly over her face, dry washing it, then used her balled fist to rub the sleep from her the corners of her eyes once more.

"When we're ready to make the call I'll come back for you."

"Ok," she fought back another yawn now, then fixed him with steady but concerned eyes. "Be careful out there, Hawke. Now is not the time to get complacent," she warned, her anxious eyes never leaving his face. "Or for heroics."

"I hear you, Leigh," Hawke assured, a gentle smile spreading across his lips now. "I hear ya …."


	14. Chapter 14

**_Chapter Fourteen._**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Seventeen – Monday, February 27th 1984._**

**_Approximately 11am local time._**

"Well, I guess it's now or never …." Stringfellow Hawke let out a soft, wistful sigh, as he reached out to turn on Airwolf's radio.

It had taken Dominic Santini and himself a little longer than they had hoped to complete the task of linking the walkie talkie contraption to Airwolf's radio system, leaving both men feeling exhausted and frustrated, until at last, they were ready to try it out.

The weather had improved a little, the wind having dropped considerably, but the snow still tumbled in a steady stream from a uniform gun metal grey sky and mist clung like a shy child to its mother's skirts to the tops of the distant mountains, an indication that the weather could change again at any moment.

Leaving Dominic Santini to stand guard over Airwolf, Hawke had gone back inside to fetch Leigh Roland, knowing that they might not have another window of opportunity to try their experiment, and when he and Leigh had emerged from the recreation room, it was to find that Colonel Chapayev and his men, with Dominic Santini supervising from the warehouse door way, had managed to get the string of balloons and walkie talkie's airborne, it looked a terrifyingly flimsy arrangement, rising in a straight line directly above the roof of warehouse number two, secured together by high tensile steel cable but well anchored into the ground by a thick steel peg hammered deep into the ice.

Hawke had been amused by Leigh Roland's reaction to the sight of her crazy invention actually taking to the sky.

A huge natural grin had split her beautiful face as she let out a heartfelt shout of 'Yes!' quickly followed by a whoop of joy as she repeatedly punched the air in triumph and yelled "Good on ya mate!"

In response, the Russians had also begun to cheer and laugh, dancing around each other, grabbing each other, looping their arms and twirling each other around, and Hawke and Santini had shared a brief smile at their unexpected burst of energy and the uncharacteristic display of emotion and excitement.

Hawke and Roland had left Dominic Santini to keep supervising the Russians as they kept their vigil over the floating antenna and entered warehouse number two, where they had climbed aboard Airwolf and quickly settled themselves.

"The moment of truth," Leigh agreed.

She was sitting in Airwolf's cockpit in the front seat beside Hawke, playing nervously with the dog eared pieces of paper she had had jammed into the pocket of her Parka coat, the lists of provisions and supplies she had compiled, the essentials that they would require to keep the station running and themselves alive for at least a few more days.

"If this cockamamie thing doesn't work, do you think Chapayev and his men will lynch me?" Leigh turned in her seat and gave Hawke a wry smile.

"They'd have to go through Dom and me first," Hawke retorted. "You don't know how many times we both cursed you while we were doing this. Stubborn sonofa …." He declared without thinking, then noted the flash of surprise in Leigh's eyes.

"Airwolf's electrical system, Leigh, not you," he clarified quickly, smothering a grin, and the flush that was suddenly coloring his cheeks by rubbing his index finger across his rough, stubble covered chin.

"Cute, Hawke. Very cute …."

"Well here goes nothing …."

"Pessimist …."

"Realist," Hawke corrected, reaching out to switch on Airwolf's radio and was instantly rewarded with a deafening burst of wild static that made both Leigh Roland and Hawke jump in their seats, and then they were looking at each other, grinning all over their faces, a mixture of amazement and relief as they both realized that under the ear splitting electronic white noise, they could hear a faint, distant, tinny sounding voice.

"Well I'll be damned …." Hawke's grin was wide and genuine, and definitely infectious, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation and real pleasure and pride that Leigh's idea seemed to be working.

"But not this week …." Leigh Roland wore a smug grin on her face too, her amber eyes dancing with joy. "Well don't just sit there …."

"Right …."

After slipping on his helmet and passing Leigh the spare headset, which she did not automatically place over her head, waiting instead for the go ahead from Hawke that it was ok to join his conversation with the government man from The Firm, Hawke reached out, twiddling buttons as he carefully tuned the radio in, altering the frequency, chasing down the signal carrying the distant voice, and after a few false starts finally tuned out the worst of the electronic white noise and homed in on a voice that he immediately recognized.

"_Angel One calling Airwolf …. Angel One calling Airwolf, do you read me, Airwolf? Over."_

"Angel One, Airwolf here, read you, not exactly loud and clear, but damn it's good to hear your voice Michael!"

"_Hawke! Hot diggity dog! Is that really you!"_Archangel's loud voice boomed over the airwaves and throwing Leigh Roland a quick sideways glance, Hawke could tell that she had heard the Deputy Director loud and clear, even without slipping on the head set, however he did not attempt to adjust the volume because he feared that he might lose the signal altogether if he tampered with the controls.

"No, it's Frosty the Snowman …." Hawke quipped, rolling his eyes heavenward briefly, before returning his gaze to Leigh Roland who was still grinning, fighting to keep in a soft chuckle because she knew that it would make her cough again, as she continued to thumb the scraps of paper in her lap.

"_About damned time too!"_

"Miss me, Michael?" Hawke smothered a grin now, knowing that he had never been more relieved to hear that familiar voice.

"_Like a dog misses a flea …."_ Archangel retorted, but there was a distinct hint of relief and amusement in his voice now.

"Look, Michael, I hate to be a killjoy but we don't have a whole helluva lot of time for small talk. The weather has us socked in so we had to jerry rig something to try to boost the radio signal out. It's very complicated, not to mention extremely fragile and very temporary Michael, and I don't know how long this link will be open so …."

"_Let's cut to the chase …."_ Archangel cut in.

"Right. We have sick people up here, Michael …."

"_We know. We got most of your last transmission. It was garbled, but we got the gist of it, and so did Nome, who called it in and confirmed that you __and Dr Roland were declaring Whiteout Station a quarantine area …."_

Stringfellow Hawke responded to this information by closing his eyes and emitting a gentle sigh of relief.

_**Thank God ….**_

_**Maybe they had caught a break after all ….**_

Hawke prayed silently to himself that that was indeed the case.

If Knightsbridge had been aware of the true nature of the emergency at Whiteout all this time, maybe someone had figured out what was going on, and they might have gained some precious time in trying to find a remedy for their sickness ….

_**Please God ….**_

"_We think we've figured it out, Hawke, and I've been all over it like …." _

A burst of static suddenly drowned out Archangel at that moment, but Hawke could guess what the government man had been about to say.

_**Like stink on ….**_

"Like a rash?" Leigh Roland quipped, cutting into his thoughts, raising her eyes from the lists she was scanning and this drew a soft chuckle from Hawke as he realized that she had obviously heard Archangel again and he appreciated just what an apt analogy it was.

"_Dammit, Hawke, are you listening to me!"_ Archangel's irritated voice wafted over the open channel once more.

"Roger that, Angel One. Missed the end of your last transmission because of static, over."

"_Never mind that, Hawke,"_ There was a note of impatience and irritation in Archangel's voice now and Hawke quickly pulled himself together. _"Everything is under control …."_

"You know what the contagion is? Is there an antidote?" Hawke demanded gruffly, swiveling his head to look at Leigh Roland's anxious face.

"I told you we're onto it. We have an aircraft waiting on the runway at Elmendorf. As soon as the weather clears it will be delivering a package for Dr Roland …."

There was suddenly a lot of static and Hawke had to strain to catch all of Archangel's words, and then knowing that there was no way that she could have deciphered any of the last transmission, he turned to regard Leigh Roland, who was wearing a pensive expression now, her eyes boring into him as she silently demanded to know Archangel's answer to Hawke's questions, and allowing a genuine smile to touch his lips, briefly, Hawke raised his hand and offered her a thumbs up.

"Thank God …." Leigh Roland uttered softly, allowing her head to drop back against the backrest of her seat briefly as she gave a soft sigh of relief, closing her eyes briefly as she felt tears stinging in the corners.

"_The latest weather forecast has the current storm moving away from your position in the next couple of hours. That's when you'll be getting your special delivery."_

"Good. You might need to slip in a little extra, and we're gonna need some other stuff. Leigh has a list …."

"_Later, Hawke. There's something else that you need to know. That situation I was trying to tell you about …. Well, it seems that the Russians have mislaid one of their nuclear submarines …."_

"Mislaid? I'd say it was well and truly lost," Hawke intoned on a deep sigh. "Scuttled, some where at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean," he added.

"_Hot damn! You know about that?"_

"Sure do. In fact, we have company. A Russian Colonel called Chapayev and his team of commandos. The Colonel and his men were training up here on the ice and the submarine was to be their transport out of here. Unfortunately, before picking them up, the sub responded to a mayday call from the scientists at Whiteout Station and after offering assistance, the crew also became infected with this contagion," Hawke explained quickly now.

"The contagion causes irrational rage, a kind of madness …. From the little he has told us I guess somehow things got out of hand aboard the sub and there was a fatal radiant leak. With the crew exposed to both radiation and the contagion, the captain decided that there was no other course of action he could take but to scuttle his ship."

"The commandos were also exposed to the contagion, but at the time they disembarked from the submarine they were not exhibiting any symptoms. That is why the captain of the sub agreed to let them leave, so that they could try to get word back to their superiors, and the Colonel brought his men to Whiteout in the hope of trying to make contact with his government and getting medical assistance for his men. He didn't know that we were already here …."

"_Well I'll be …."_ Archangel's voice suddenly became muffled, as though he had moved away from the microphone at his end of the line, but Hawke's bat like hearing had no trouble picking up what he was saying at his end.

"_**Marella, you were right, there were survivors from the submarine and they showed up at Whiteout …. You'd better send someone to find Colonel Nikitin and let him know the situation. I think he stepped out to use the bathroom ….**_ _My God Hawke …."_ Archangel's voice grew stronger once more as he returned his attention to the man on the other end of the line. _"You really don't know how lucky you are …."_

"I think I do, actually …." Hawke countered quickly, recalling the devastation they had discovered at Whiteout Station, and the resulting loss of life that he was already aware of.

"_Ok, here's the situation …"_ Archangel emitted a soft sigh, pausing briefly to get his thoughts in order before continuing.

"_I've been dealing with a Colonel Vladimir Iosifovich Nikitin, Hawke_," He explained in familiar, businesslike tones now.

"_At great risk to himself and his career, Colonel Nikitin went to a great deal of trouble to persuade his superiors in the Kremlin that they could not simply sit back and watch innocents die. He forced them to accept that they had to act. When they lost contact with their submarine, after her captain reported some kind of sickness aboard, when it became clear that it wasn't just foreign nationals that were involved, but their own citizens too, the Kremlin could no longer deny their involvement."_

"_Naturally they have kept a tight lid on it back home and made us limit the amount of publicity and its content to this being a joint mercy mission to discover what has happened to the scientists at Whiteout Station and the crew of their own submarine."_

"_It has been hugely embarrassing to them, but they claim it has nothing to do with the present regime. The Russian Premier has blamed it on the incompetence and paranoia of previous leadership and the propaganda machine has gone into overdrive, seizing the opportunity to make them selves look like the heroes by offering their full co-operation, implying to the rest of the world that we can't deal with the situation without their help."_

Archangel's tone was one of disbelief and derision as he paused to take a quick breath.

_"To that end, they nominated Colonel Nikitin as their representative, to approach our government and liaise with the agencies brought in to deal with the situation."_

Archangel paused to take another breath and Hawke used the brief lull to cast a quick glance in Leigh Roland's direction, aware that she was frowning, obviously trying to piece together what the government man was telling him, from only Hawke's side of the conversation, and was obviously frustrated not to be able to hear for herself.

"That's where you and The Firm come in …."

"_We were already involved, having sent you up there with Dr Roland. It made sense to restrict involvement to those already in the know. The fewer people involved, the less chance of springing a leak, the true nature of the disaster getting out and causing a worldwide panic,"_ Archangel pointed out.

"_It seems that Nikitin was already aware of the situation at Whiteout Station, he didn't offer any explanation as to how and why, and I didn't ask, although we don't have to be rocket scientists to hazard a guess …. And it seems, he surmised that the two things must be related to the sudden unexpected and uncontrolled re-entry of one of their satellites. He deduced that the satellite had been carrying something toxic and set about ascertaining if there was some kind of antidote or treatment."_

"_Colonel Nikitin was able to locate the scientists who developed the virus. He went to great pains to assure us that what stocks they had in reserve after the satellite was launched had subsequently been destroyed …."_ Archangel assured now, but there was an odd nuance to his voice that Hawke recognized immediately and which indicated to him that Archangel doubted the truth and sincerity in the Russian Colonel's assurances.

"_And he learned that they had indeed created an antivirus …." _

At his end of the line, sitting perched precariously on the edge of a desk in the communications centre at Knightsbridge, watching his assistant, Marella who was on the other side of the room speaking animatedly to an attractive and imposing figure of a man decked out in the uniform of the Russian Army, no doubt communicating the discovery of survivors from the Russian submarine to Colonel Nikitin, Archangel paused to let that piece of information sink in, well able to imagine the relief being experienced by Hawke at that moment and the celebration that was going on between Hawke and whoever was with him inside Airwolf at that moment, his reasonable assumption that it was probably Dominic Santini ….

"_Nikitin was then authorized by his government to offer the antivirus to us, in return for our help in locating and repatriating the crew of their submarine …."_

"That was big of them," Hawke scoffed when Archangel again paused to take a breath, and Leigh Roland used the lull in the conversation to indicate to Hawke that she had something that she wanted to ask the government agent. "Michael, I have Dr Roland here with me. I'm going to pass you over to her for a moment …."

Hawke waited while Leigh slipped on the spare head set and positioned it over her mouth and ear.

"Mr Coldsmith Briggs …." Leigh spoke into the microphone and adjusted the position of the headset over her ear.

"_Dr Roland, good to hear your voice."_

"Thank you. Tell me, is there enough of the antivirus for all of us? Including the Russians there are fourteen of us alive, if not so well, up here at Whiteout," Leigh informed matter of factly.

"_We asked__ the Russian scientists to make sure that they sent enough of the stuff to treat all of the existing scientists at Whiteout and every crew member on their submarine, just in case …. Along with information for you on the correct dosage, and how, where and when it should be administered. Will that suffice?"_

"Yes, thank you. Do you know what the virus is, what the Russians used to manufacture it? How effective is the antivirus?"

"_That information is currently not available to me, doctor. I'm sorry …." _His voice trailed away, briefly, then he added; _"My assistant, Marella, has already made certain that the plane is stocked with any medical supplies and equipment that she felt you might require …."_

"Thank you."

"_How is everyone, doctor?"_

"Sick, Mr Coldsmith Briggs, and getting sicker by the hour, but we're hanging in there."

"_Well it shouldn't be too much longer before the storm clears, and you will have the treatment and supplies that you need. After that, I guess we will all just have to wait and see."_

"I'm afraid we are going to need other supplies too. Things like food and drinking water …."

"_I'll get Marella on to it. I believe Hawke said that you have a list?"_

"Indeed I do. It's mostly basics …."

"_Fine. Just give the details to Marella, but first, could you let me have a private word with Hawke?"_

"Sure."

Leigh Roland removed the headset and handed it back to Hawke then reached out to pop open her door, her intention to leave Hawke alone so that he could speak openly to Archangel, but Hawke reached out quickly and stopped her, shaking his head gently, so Leigh settled back in her seat and watched as he let the government agent on the other end of the connection know that he was back on the air.

"Hawke here, Michael," he spoke into the microphone inside his helmet, throwing Leigh Roland a curious look at the same time.

"_How is it up there, Hawke, really?"_

"Under control."

"_And our Russian friends?"_

"Co-operating," Hawke confirmed, suspecting that Archangel wasn't just asking about their health.

The Deputy Director was subtly trying to ascertain if Hawke was still in control of the situation and was not under any kind of threat, or duress.

If for one minute Archangel felt that all was not as it appeared to be, that the lives of Hawke and Santini and Roland were under threat from anything other than this wretched virus, then he would have no qualms about sending in reinforcements, just to remind the Russians that they were in reality, invaders on American soil.

"It's not exactly a ho-down up here, but we seem to have reached an understanding. Listen, Michael, Colonel Chapayev and his men have relinquished their weapons, in fact, non of us are armed, so forget about there being someone sitting here holding a gun to my head," Hawke advised brusquely before Archangel got carried away and began imaging the worst case scenario. "It's just me and Dr Roland," he assured.

"And Santini?"

"Outside throwing snowballs with our comrades …." Hawke snarled in frustration. "Maybe their making an igloo or a snowman …. He's fine, Michael. We're all fine …. Under the circumstances," he assured again. "It's amazing how having a common enemy, this damned virus, centers the mind and focuses it on what _**really**_ matters. Working together to make sure we _**all **_get out of here alive."

"Very well …."

"It's no holiday camp up here Michael, but the Colonel seems to be a reasonable enough guy and he has made it perfectly clear that his only motivation for coming to Whiteout Station, after realizing that there was nothing that could be done to save the submarine and her crew, was to save his men. His only thought, to seek sanctuary from the storm, to try to get a communiqué out to his superiors and to get medical help for his men. He fully expects that they will all be returned to the Motherland and that there will be no repercussions …."

"_That remains to be seen Hawke, but I see where you are coming from. How are you and Dominic holding up?"_ Archangel asked, suddenly becoming aware of just how breathless Hawke sounded, although he couldn't be sure if part of what he was hearing was also static.

"We're ok. Leigh has been terrific," Hawke turned to throw his companion a gentle smile now.

"_And the other scientists at Whiteout?"_

"I'm afraid they're all dead. I'll give you a full report when we get out of here …. Listen Michael, if the storms persist, we are going to need backup radio equipment too. The main radio on the station has been disabled, and Airwolf's system can't punch a signal through the worst of the storms unless I try to take her up, and frankly, with the weather, and the way that I feel right now, that is completely out of the question. We jerry rigged several walkie talkies to weather balloons and linked them to Airwolf to make this call, but if the wind increases in velocity we could lose even this link with the outside world …."

"_Very well Hawke. I'll have Marella sort something out for you. I believe there is a spare satellite phone lying aroun__d here some place, like the one I left at your cabin …."_

Again Archangel paused and Hawke got the sense that he was about to broach a subject that would be distasteful to all.

"_About Whiteout Station, Hawke, you know what you have to do …."_

"Make sure this thing is contained here and that there is no chance that it will ever get loose again."

"_Affirmative. Whatever happens, Hawke, you have to blow that place to kingdom come …. Raze it to the ground. Do I make myself understood?"_

"Completely," Hawke confirmed, noting the wide eyed look of horror on Leigh Roland's face as she digested Hawke's words and put two and two together, which then quickly transformed into one of acceptance that there could be no other possible end to this terrible tragedy.

"_Good. Check in again if you are able to in one hour, I should have an updated weather forecast by then and as soon as the plane takes off from Elmendorf, I will give you an estimated ETA at your location …."_

"Roger that. Michael, Chapayev has been making noises about wanting to make contact with his people, to report their situation, but I told him that Airwolf was out of bounds …."

"_They know about Airwolf!"__ Archangel cut in excitedly._

"Michael, she isn't exactly easy to hide …."

"_What else does he know?"__ Archangel demanded angrily now._

"Nothing, Michael. I managed to persuade Colonel Chapayev that we are all civilians, but I had to tell him something to explain our being here, in _**this**_chopper, so I told him that I work for some wealthy eccentric philanthropist who knows people who know people, who maybe know people who can pull the right kind of strings in Washington," Hawke explained patiently. "When he knows that I managed to make contact with the outside world, five will get you ten that he's going to want to do the same."

"Stall him, Hawke!"

"I've already done that, but I don't know how long he'll play along …."

"_Listen, Hawke, you __have to keep him out of Airwolf …. All that sensitive equipment on full view …. We can't afford a compromise in security like that Hawke! Hell, I don't need to tell you the consequences if the Russians decide to try to build their own version of Airwolf …."_

_**No, Michael, you don't need to tell me …. **_Hawke thought to himself in exasperation.

"_You said that he is a reasonable man, so tell him that you were able to make contact with your boss, but make sure you remind him that your boss has nothing to do with the government. Just tell him that your boss is trying to resolve the situation …."_

"Can I tell him about the antivirus?"

"_Tell him we're working on it …."_

"Terrific …. "

"_Tell him that we are organizing__ an air drop of emergency supplies and that you have requested additional radio equipment. Tell him that as soon as the supplies arrive, you will be required to make contact with your boss, to confirm that all is well and that you have received everything, and that at that time your boss will try to have a representative from his government available for him to report to. Under no circumstances allow him inside Airwolf, Hawke. Do you understand?"_

"Of course I understand, Michael …." Hawke sighed deeply, although he suspected that it might prove easier said than done. "Just remember we are all infected with some strange contagion, one of the symptoms of which is chronic paranoia and extreme rage."

"I'm sure you can handle it, Hawke …."

"Well gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Michael …."

"_You're welcome,"_ Archangel also emitted a loud sigh of relief from his end of the line. _"Now, if you wouldn't mind putting Dr Roland back on, Marella is ready to go through that list of things that you need …."_

/a\

"What was all that about?" Leigh Roland asked after climbing out of Airwolf and walking around the nose to join Hawke on his side of the chopper. He was hanging on to the door frame, panting raggedly, a wicked scowl contorting his face.

"Oh, you know …. Just the boss man getting his priorities right …."

"Huh?" She regarded him curiously, noting his obvious breathlessness after only the slightest of exertion in exiting the chopper, and irritation.

"Fourteen lives in danger from some deadly, unidentified contagion and all he cares about is making sure I don't let our Russian friends get a look-see inside Airwolf …."

"I see …." Leigh gave a gentle sigh and now Hawke realized that she wasn't exactly jumping for joy either.

She had just been told that there was indeed a miracle cure for their illness, and that it would be parachuted to them in a few short hours, so why wasn't she celebrating? Hell, she didn't even look particularly relieved ….

"What?" Hawke asked, noting the expression on her face now, full of doubt and suspicion and he wondered if he had missed something in her conversation with Archangel.

When she had originally heard the news she had seemed genuinely pleased, so what had changed in the mean time, Hawke found himself wondering.

"Nothing," Leigh became evasive now, reaching out to try to steady Hawke as he swayed alarmingly in the cockpit doorway. "C'mon, let's get you back inside …."

"Leigh," Hawke demanded, shrugging off her attempts to take some of his weight, dropping his head to drag in more precious air.

"Well, it's just …. This antivirus the Russians are so conveniently supplying …. I can't help wondering if it really is the miracle cure they claim …."

"There's just no pleasing you, is there woman …." Hawke growled playfully, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he panted for breath.

"Dammit, Hawke, I'm, serious!" Leigh snapped. "When I asked your Archangel about the stats, how the virus was created and how effective the antivirus is, he said the information wasn't available to him."

"I've been in situations like this before, Hawke, when I worked at the CDC. I know when you are looking for a cure to a lethal contagion you record every detail of the process, so that it can be successfully repeated by other scientists. You note down every sign of improvement and every negative response in the test subject, because that is the kind of information any attending physician is going to want to know. You do this because often times, the cure can be worse than the disease, and the physician will need to know if any new symptom is due to the original contagion, or the antidote. "

"Therefore, it was a reasonable question Hawke …." Leigh pointed out in reasonable tones and Hawke listened to every word as he continued to fight to draw in every painful breath.

"And if the Russians have done that kind of extensive testing on this antivirus, they should have recorded a significant amount of data on its effectiveness, and any possible side effects, that kind of thing …." Leigh continued, coming to stand beside Hawke and laying a warm, reassuring hand on his back, between his shoulders as he continued to pant raggedly.

"So, if that were the case, Hawke, the Russians would have had to make that information available to any doctor needing to use the treatment, so it should have been an easy enough question to answer."

"Either your Archangel knows something and doesn't want to tell us, or maybe the Russians haven't told him the whole truth about the vaccine or whatever it is …."

Leigh paused once more, gently rubbing his back as she watched as Hawke dragged in a series of quick snatches of air and then slowly turned his head and raised his eyes to regard her with deep suspicion.

"How do we know it isn't just sugar water they're sending us? A useless placebo? Something to pacify our government, and make it look as if they are co-operating?"

"Now who is being cynical, doc?" Hawke managed a wry smile now. "I guess we have to trust them, after all, they are sending the stuff to treat their own people too, Leigh," he reminded gently.

"Are they? I'm not so sure, Hawke. Don't you see? Dead men tell no tales. No survivors, Hawke, no one to contradict their so called 'official' version of events …. Everyone will believe that the Russians did everything that they could to co-operate, but what if, in reality, they are just cleaning up after their mess? Tying up all the loose ends? And who would know any different? Who would know if it was the contagion, or the alleged cure that killed us? Do you think they would bother to send someone to find out, before they blow the place sky high?"

"If I know Michael, he will have had his people at Knightsbridge check the authenticity of the antivirus before he sent it out to Elmendorf," Hawke assured now, although he had to concede that she had a valid point.

"I don't know if they would be able to tell how effective it is, but they will know whether it is genuine or not."

"I hope so, Hawke …. I hope so …."

"Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough, doc …."

Hawke let out a soft breath, doubts and suspicions beginning to creep into his own mind now, and he found himself wishing that Leigh had kept her thoughts to herself because he didn't like the direction his own thoughts were taking him.

_**Could she possibly be right?**_

Maybe the Russians didn't have any idea how effective the antivirus was, and they were all about to be used as guinea pigs ….

"Leigh, I know you're worried, but I don't see that we have any choice but to try the stuff. We know for sure that we're dead without it …." Hawke reminded her softly, slipping his arm around her waist now and leaning heavily against her, exhausted from fighting for every precious breath and feeling the cold penetrating deep into his bones.

"I'm sorry Hawke, maybe I'm jumping to conclusions …."

"No, you raised a valid point, Leigh, but the way I see it, what do we have to lose?"

He gave her waist a gentle squeeze now as he blessed her with a weak smile and Leigh nodded gently in return, although Hawke could still see suspicion lingering in her beautiful amber eyes.

"Oh ye of little faith …. C'mon, lets get back inside and get warm, conserve our strength, there'll be plenty to do later …."

"Yeah, and I have four more patients to check on, whether Colonel Chapayev likes it or not!"

"I have a feeling that's not the only thing he's not going to like …." Hawke mumbled as he clung to Leigh Roland, grateful for her assistance as he secured the cockpit door and then they set off across the warehouse.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter Fifteen._**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Seventeen – Monday, February 27th 1984._**

**_Approximately 3pm local time._**

"Relax, Leigh, they'll be here any minute," Stringfellow Hawke advised in a low, reedy voice, speaking very slowly because he was so breathless and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably.

"They'd better be. I don't fancy scrambling around out there on the ice in the dark, Hawke …." Leigh grumbled back in an equally low and breathy voice, gently beating her arms around her midriff and chest and stamping her feet to try to get some warmth into her bones.

Hawke and Leigh Roland were standing just inside the open door way of warehouse number two, Hawke's keen eyes scanning the skies and his sharp ears pricked for any sign of the distant drone of aircraft engines as they awaited the arrival of the cargo plane carrying their essential supplies.

Colonel Chapayev and several of his men were standing just inside the door to the covered walkway, also awaiting the arrival of the plane so that they could help Hawke and the doctor haul the supplies back inside Whiteout Station, after being summoned by Leigh Roland when Hawke had given her the go ahead to advise the Colonel that the air drop was a go.

_**Many hands make light work ….**_

Stringfellow Hawke was still marveling at the stark contrast in the weather now that the storm front had moved away from their position.

The silence was deafening now that the wind had dropped completely, every man made sound muted, muffled like they were cocooned in cotton wool, and if anything, it seemed even colder.

The fog had lifted, although there was still a bank of ominous looking dark cloud over head, and the snow had stopped falling in a steady cascade, just the odd flurry drifting lazily to the ground now, but Hawke knew that that would not stop the USAF cargo plane from making it's planned rendez vous and dropping the wooden crates containing the essential supplies that they would need in the coming hours and possibly days.

Leigh had accompanied Hawke out to the warehouse so that he could make contact with Archangel over Airwolf's radio once more, to get confirmation of the aircraft's estimated time of arrival.

It was the second time they had trekked out here since the initial contact with the government man, and the extra exertion wasn't doing Hawke any good.

It wasn't doing her any good either, Leigh silently conceded, whilst trying to conceal from Hawke the fact that she too wasn't feeling at her best.

_**They were as bad as each other ….**_

_**And for what? **_

_**To keep the Russians from gaining the upper hand?**_

Leigh wasn't sure that any of those fearful and nervous boys had the physical strength to mount a coup, or to try to over power Hawke and herself, but, they were still in the majority and Leigh didn't want to take any chances, especially as her concerns for Colonel Chapayev's mental state were growing by the hour.

He was still their commanding officer, and their loyalty to him would ensure that they would obey any order he issued, be it rational or not.

Hawke had made contact with Archangel as requested after an hour, and in the interim, Leigh had made him try to get some rest, but at that time Archangel had informed Hawke that there had been a small delay while the food and water, and the heating and lighting equipment that Leigh had listed for Marella was gathered together and loaded on to the aircraft, and so Archangel had requested that Hawke make contact again in two hours, when he hoped that he would be able to confirm that the bird was in the sky and give him an estimated time of arrival.

Hawke had just made the second call and Archangel had advised that the cargo plane had indeed taken off and would be with them shortly.

Leigh Roland knew that it was not a moment too soon.

Aside from her fears that if the plane was delayed much longer it would not deposit it's precious cargo before they lost the light, and they would all be falling over themselves out there on the ice, in the dark, the four Russian commandos who had been taken ill the previous evening were deteriorating quickly, all suffering from chronic breathing difficulties and high fevers, delirious and hallucinating, ranting and shouting angrily as they thrashed around on their mattresses, one minute, totally irrational and suddenly possessing a superior strength as they fought off those of their colleagues who tried to restrain them and comfort them, and then practically comatose the next.

Leigh was at her wits end, knowing that there was very little that she could do to help them, concerned about their rapid deterioration and this troubling new development, unable to stop her self from wondering if this was how the final stage of the disease had affected her friends, and the crew of the submarine, and uneasy under the open hostility in Colonel Chapayev's eyes as he watched her working.

Leigh was concerned about him too.

The Russian Colonel had grown more and more agitated as time went on, obviously angered by Hawke's insistence that he could not use the chopper's radio to make contact with his people in Russia and anxious about the condition of his men.

He had taken to pacing back and forth across the Russian side of the recreation room, like a caged bear, his body rigid as he fought to keep control of his racing thoughts and escalating frustration and rage, distrustful eyes darting between herself and Hawke whenever they had need to speak to each other, and Leigh found herself fighting back a feeling of dread that the man was losing his mind.

There was something wild and feral, unnerving, in his reptilian green eyes, that sent a shudder down her spine, and Leigh Roland did not know how much longer he was going to be able to control himself.

Anxiety and genuine fear had sent her hurrying to sickbay in search of the sedatives that she had sworn she would never use, concealing the vials in her medical bag as she tended to Dominic Santini, praying that things would get no worse and that she would be forced to use the drugs.

Leigh was also worried about Dominic Santini and Stringfellow Hawke.

Hawke was still trying to conceal the true extent of his illness, but Dominic Santini no longer could.

A short time after they had made the first call out to Archangel, Santini had gone off his legs, so breathless he could not speak.

Presently he was lying on his mattress, an oxygen mask clamped to his face, but it was making very little difference, despite the fact that she had given him steroids to try to open up his airways.

He was fighting for every breath and his heart was struggling to pump blood, and the precious little oxygen he was able to draw in to his lungs around his weakening body. His temperature had spiked and perspiration was pouring out of him. He was conscious, but only just, barely aware of whom he was and where he was any longer, and Leigh feared the worst for him, that he would lapse into a coma and simply slip away.

However she said nothing of this to Hawke. He had enough problems of his own to concern himself with and there was nothing more that he could do for his old friend than he was already doing, sitting beside him, mopping his brow and talking to him, despite what that little effort was costing him physically too.

As for Stringfellow Hawke himself, Leigh was amazed that he was even still on his feet.

His breathing was so loud and labored he was like one of those marathon runners she had seen staggering over the line at the Olympics, totally exhausted, stumbling and reeling as he continued to try to function as though nothing was wrong, and he fought for every breath, face and lips tinged slightly blue, cyanotic, indicating that his body was starving for oxygen, but he refused to allow Leigh to hook him up to an oxygen mask, knowing that Dominic Santini needed it more and that with the Russians deteriorating so quickly, there wasn't enough to go around.

Leigh herself felt wretched, hot and clammy, her chest aching with the effort of breathing and the hard, hacking cough that came and went in spasms.

There was no doubt in her mind now that they were all dying.

Some more quickly than others, but dying nonetheless.

Leigh had thought long and hard about what Hawke had said about trusting the Russian's antivirus, and she knew that he was right. Watching everyone deteriorating so quickly, she no longer doubted that without treatment, they would all be dead within twenty four hours.

She had passed off her doubts and suspicions as being due, in part, to exhaustion, and perhaps a symptom of the contagion.

_**Paranoia?**_

Well, so maybe the Russians weren't out to get her after all, but there was no doubt in her mind that this damned contagion certainly was.

True to his word, Hawke had checked with Archangel that his people had verified that the antivirus was viable, and Leigh had had to accept both of their assurances that she had nothing to worry about ….

Except that perhaps that it was already too late for the antivirus to be effective, but she kept that thought to herself.

When she had returned to the recreation room to tell Colonel Chapayev that the cargo plane would be rendez vousing shortly, she had walked in on the Russian commando's huddle together, whispering and gesticulating animatedly, and she could not help thinking that in his present state of mind, Chapayev might try something, like hi-jacking the medical supplies and food for themselves.

_**Thank God **__**they didn't know about the antivirus yet ….**_

As per Archangel's instructions they had left that piece of information out when they had briefed the Colonel on their initial conversation with Hawke's 'boss'.

Leigh had seen the look on Chapayev's face and knew that he was not fooled, but he did not challenge them and had silently returned to his men, leaving Leigh Roland feeling bad, with a sour taste in her mouth and a head full of distasteful images of what he and his men might do if they discovered that Hawke had withheld the precious piece of information that an antivirus did indeed exist.

However, Leigh had kept her suspicions to her self, knowing that all she could do was watch and wait, and then help Hawke to deal with anything that the Russians might try to pull.

After all, she could be wrong.

It could just be another manifestation of the paranoia associated with the contagion.

No point in alerting Hawke to the possibility of a mutiny, and spooking him, unless she had to.

"They're here …." Hawke turned back to face her, a genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth now.

"I don't hear anything …." Leigh protested, poking her head out through the gap between the door and the frame and straining to hear, but there was nothing.

"They're here I tell you," Hawke grinned and pushed the warehouse door open wider, striking out toward the compound boundary, away from the main building.

With a sigh and shrug of frustration, Leigh Roland followed Hawke outside, concerned that maybe he was experiencing an auditory hallucination, for she could still hear nothing out of the ordinary.

Suddenly Hawke stopped dead in his tracks and threw his head back, narrowing his eyes to scan the sky over head.

"There!" He exclaimed, pulling off his glove and pointing to the unbroken cloud cover and Leigh too pulled off her glove and brought her right hand up to shield her eyes as she squinted up at the sky, suddenly becoming aware as she did so of a distant, strange, low pitched droning sound.

"Look!" Hawke panted, his finger pointing to another expanse of sky and as she turned her face to follow his finger, Leigh caught sight of something descending through the clouds. It was a large, pale golden colored wooden crate dangling precariously from the underside of a bright orange parachute.

As soon as the crate hit the ground with a gentle thud, Leigh Roland became aware of the Russian commandos streaming out of the door to the covered walkway and around the corner of the research lab complex, heading to where the crate had landed on its side in a mound of fresh snow.

Hawke too was trying to sprint, but it was hard going for him, his legs already very weak, finding it hard working against the fresh, deep snow.

The Russian commando's reached the crate first and were immediately clamoring to get it turned over and open, even as a second parachute slowly sank through the cloud cover and transported a slightly smaller crate to the ground, landing several feet away from the first crate.

This crate, Leigh Roland noticed immediately had a large red cross painted on all four sides and she felt her heart rate increase as she realized that half of the commandos, with Chapayev in the lead, were now heading for the second crate.

"Oh God …." Leigh gasped, wading through deep virgin snow herself now, hot on the heels of Hawke and the Russians, aware as she did so that a third larger crate was also floating slowly to earth and then set its self down on the icy ground several feet away from the others, the parachute that had carried it safely to the ground draping its self gracefully over the top of it.

"Hawke!" Leigh yelled, trying to get his attention, desperately afraid that the Russians would get to the medical supplies and the antivirus first, and somehow try to deny Hawke, Santini and herself their share.

Hawke tried to speed up, but it was no use, his legs were like rubber one minute and lead the next, and by the time he realized what Leigh was trying to tell him, it was too late, the Russians had the crate with the red crosses stenciled on it open, and were already rifling through the contents.

Suddenly Chapayev hoisted something up into the sky in his right hand, and span around, a look of triumph on his face, as his subordinates gathered around him protectively.

"Halt! Stay where you are Hawke!" Chapayev bellowed, his eyes wild and glittering with fever and madness.

"Don't be a fool, Chapayev! If you drop that stuff we're all dead!" Leigh Roland screamed hysterically, as she watched the box containing what she suspected was the life saving antivirus wobble dangerously in the Colonel's grasp.

"Stay where you are! You too doctor!" Chapayev ordered, but Hawke blithely carried on plowing his way through the almost knee deep snow, watching with horror as Chapayev, his fingers numb with the cold, almost dropped the box in his hand, then passed it to another of his men, who immediately started to hurry away toward Whiteout Station.

Leigh Roland automatically altered her course, aiming to intercept the man carrying the box with the antivirus in it, and Hawke too homed in on the man.

Closing in on him quickly, Hawke took a flying leap and made a grab for the man's legs, praying that if he dropped the box it would have a soft landing in the snow.

Grabbing the man's ankles, his ears ringing with the shouts of anger from the Russians as they began to converge on him, and the blood pounding through his veins, Hawke sent the young man flying to the ground, knocking the box of antivirus out of his grip in the process, watching with horror, in slow motion as the box rose up into the air and then began to tumble end over end as it descended, to land squarely in Leigh Roland's open palm as she too took a flying leap and landed on her belly with a gasp, the breath knocked out of her body, her fingers curling tightly around the box as she rolled over on to her back and brought it close into her body, cushioning it against her now snow covered belly, before it had a chance to hit the ground.

In the next instant the angry young Russian commando was scrambling to his feet, taking a wild swing at Hawke with his fist before making for Leigh Roland, only to find himself once again tackled to the ground by a breathless and enraged Stringfellow Hawke who roughly rolled him over on to his back and rammed his right forearm against the younger man's throat to make him lie still.

"Unless you like eating snow, stay down you idiot!" Hawke hissed, hoping that his actions and his tone of voice would indicate to the younger man that he should offer no further resistance, but the young man continued to struggle against him, bucking and kicking out until Hawke was forced to release him and move out of range, deciding instead to go to Leigh Roland's side, aware that the rest of the Russian commando's were advancing on her position quickly.

"Colonel, call off the dogs!" Hawke demanded, panting raggedly, skidding to a halt beside Leigh Roland, then moving to stand slightly in front of her, protectively, bending over at the waist to try to draw air deeper into his lungs before raising him self to confront the angry and confused Russian commando's.

"You will hand over the medicine, Dr Roland …." Chapayev came to a halt a few feet away from Hawke and Roland but his eyes were fixed on the box cradled tightly against Leigh Roland's chest. "I take it that is what it is? The antivirus?"

"That's right," Leigh confirmed breathlessly, never more relieved that she and Hawke had managed to talk the Russians into discarding their weapons and stowing them away safely in the Armory, and the ammunition in the combination locked safe along side the darts for the tranquilizer guns, or the situation might be even worse right now.

"The antivirus you deliberately did not tell us about …."

"They weren't sure there was one at first, or if they could get it to us in time," Hawke gasped out. "We didn't want to raise anyone's hopes …."

"How magnanimous of you, Mr Hawke, Dr Roland …. However, I cannot help thinking that you had other motives for not sharing your knowledge. Perhaps you never had any intention of sharing the antivirus with us …."

"For God's sake, Chapayev!" Hawke hissed in protest, taking in the Russian's angry stance and hard, emotionless tone of voice, and from the narrow eyed suspicion written all over his face, realized that the man truly believed what he was saying.

"I warned you not to take me for a fool, doctor …."

"And I told you there was no chance of that happening. Look, there's no need for any of this, Colonel," Leigh protested breathlessly, still winded from her fall and the unexpected exertion.

She too was aware of the anger and hostility in the other man and knew that she had been right to be concerned about what was really going on in his mind, and realized that she should have said something to Hawke about her suspicions after all.

"There's enough for all of us!"

"How do I know that, doctor?"

"Dammit Colonel they sent enough to treat everyone .… All the scientists at Whiteout Station and the crew of the submarine!" Hawke barked out now.

"How do I know that the doctor won't destroy what is left after she has treated you and Santini and herself?"

"Oh for God's sake man …." Leigh Roland gasped in outrage. "Do you really think I could do something like that!"

"Is that what _**you **_would have done, if we hadn't tried to stop you, Colonel?" Hawke accused on a snarl, outraged on Leigh Roland's behalf, and stung by the accusation himself because the truth was that that had never been their intention.

"I was just trying to ensure that my men got the help they needed …." But the look that settled on the Russian officer's face told Hawke that he had come pretty close to the truth with his remark.

"Colonel, this is crazy. There is more than enough of the antivirus to go around," Leigh Roland assured.

"We're still all in this together, Chapayev," Hawke reminded in a deep, low voice, drawing the Russian man's attention away from Leigh Roland now. "We all get the antivirus, or no-one gets it …"

Hawke suddenly grabbed the box from Leigh's hand, much to her surprise and annoyance and she watched in shock and horror as he held the box in his outstretched hand, ready to smash it to the ground if anyone made a false move.

"_**No!"**_

"_**Hawke!"  
**_

Leigh Roland and Colonel Chapayev yelled in unison as Hawke again lowered his hand as if to allow the box to fall.

"The ball's in your court, Chapayev …."

"Colonel?" Leigh prompted now, wondering if she should be worried that Hawke had suddenly lost his mind, pushed to the limit of his reason and sanity by this latest development, whilst also watching Chapayev mulling over the pros and cons in his mind, aware as he did so of the silent scrutiny of his subordinates as they came up to stand around him.

"I'm going to need all the help I can get, Colonel …. For one thing, I can't read Russian …." Leigh kept her tone even and reasonable as she drew the Russian officer's frantic eyes back to focus on her face.

"But if it makes you happy, why don't we go inside, check out the instructions, and then we share out the contents? Your medic can administer the antivirus to you and your men and I'll administer it to Hawke and Santini and myself?" She offered a reasonable compromise, hoping that the Colonel wasn't so deeply immersed in paranoia that he could not see that it was indeed a fair offer.

"Well, Chapayev?" Hawke demanded after a lengthy silence and Leigh Roland watched as the last of the resistance and anger suddenly drained out of Chapayev. His shoulders sagged and his legs buckled, briefly, before two of his men reached out to save him from a heavy fall.

"I have your word, doctor?" Chapayev fixed Leigh Roland with anxious eyes. "There is enough for all of us?"

"You have my word, Colonel," Leigh assured him softly, moving forward now to take a closer look at him, before indicating to his men that they could help him back inside.

"Colonel …." Hawke spoke in a softer tone of voice now, and Chapayev waved at the men supporting him to stop and turn him back to face the American pilot.

"There's a satellite phone in one of those crates. My boss just told me that he has arranged for you to make contact with a Colonel Vladimir Iosifovich Nikitin. He will be able to fill you in on everything, and, no doubt straighten this little misunderstanding out, I'm sure …."

Stringfellow Hawke immediately noted the Russian's reaction to his words, the flash of recognition in those watery green eyes, at the name he dropped out so casually, and surprise at the realization that Hawke had indeed kept his promise about providing him with the means to make contact with someone from his government, and for just an instant, regret, that he had lost his head and given into the raging distrust and paranoia he had been fighting against for hours now.

"I'll give you the details of the secure channel when we get back inside."

"Thank you," Chapayev said simply. "I will have my men open the crates and bring the contents inside …. If that is acceptable?" There was just a hint of uncertainty in his voice now.

Stringfellow Hawke nodded gently.

"Thank you, Colonel. If we all work together, we'll get it done a lot faster …."

"Very well …."

With that, Chapayev spoke softly to one of his men, sending him and several others back off in the direction of the crates, while the other two once again began to assist him as they made their way back to the main accommodation block.

"That was close …. Too damned close. And reckless …." Leigh gave a huge sigh of relief as she turned back to face Stringfellow Hawke, another angry retort on the tip of her tongue, until she realized that he was suddenly looking very pale, watching his knees shaking as he made to move forward, only to lose his footing on a patch of ice, and pitched forward.

Leigh Roland suddenly found herself watching with horror, in a kind of slow motion, as the box of antivirus slipped through Hawke's numb fingers.

Acting purely on instinct, Leigh launched herself through the air and again made a grab for the precious box, winding her fingers around it before it hit the ground, and landing with another startled gasp before rolling over on to her back and glaring at Hawke who was on his knees, breathing hard an expression of sheer horror on his face at what might have happened if Leigh had not reacted so quickly.

"'Owzat!" Leigh yelled in triumph as she grasped the box firmly against her bosom like the wicket keeper taking a precious catch in her native country's favorite sport, cricket, watching relief slowly replacing the anxiety on Hawke's face now as he tried to stagger back to his feet.

"Butter fingers …." She hissed, but then suddenly both she and Hawke were laughing uncontrollably, more from relief than hysteria, drawing the startled gaze of the retreating Russian commandos who obviously thought that the Americans were completely mad as, slithering and sliding, Hawke finally regained his balance and made his way to Leigh Roland's side, where he graciously offered her his hand, which she gratefully accepted, but not before she cradled the precious box against her body protectively.

Then, still chuckling despite the fact that they were both breathless, their hearts racing erratically in their heaving chests, Leigh and Hawke followed the Colonel and his men back toward Whiteout Station while the remainder of the Russian commandos organized themselves and began to tackle opening the crates of supplies.

/a\

Back inside the recreation room, Leigh Roland, Stringfellow Hawke, Colonel Chapayev and his medic, Lieutenant Nicolai Sergeyevich Rostov, a young man Hawke recognized as the commando he had just wrestled and pinned to the ground only a few minutes before, and whom was still sending dark, resentful glares in his direction, gathered around a table and prepared to open the box containing the antivirus.

Leigh Roland carefully placed the box in the center of the table and Stringfellow Hawke moved it before Chapayev and Rostov and indicated that they should open it, as a gesture of good faith, then watched carefully, leaning heavily against the table, as the Russian medic carefully opened the box and removed the protective padding and a couple of pieces of paper covered in large, bold writing, the symbols of the Cyrillic alphabet, from on top of the contents.

_**The instructions that Archangel had advised her about,**_ Leigh Roland thought to herself as she leaned in a little closer to get a better look at the contents and found that the box contained several layered rows of tiny, individually wrapped vials of a translucent bright orange liquid.

It looked harmless enough, she told herself as she reached in to take one of the precious vials, first casting a wary glance at Colonel Chapayev, before taking a vial and very carefully holding it up between her thumb and index finger to the light.

_**So what did you expect? That it would explode in your hand, dummy?**_

_**The proof of the pudding, is as they say, in the eating ….**_

_**So who was going to **__**get the first piece of the pie?**_

"So, who gets the first shot?" Hawke must have read her mind, Leigh thought to herself, as he shifted his gaze from Leigh Roland to Chapayev and then back again.

"I'll need to know the specific instructions …." Leigh reminded as she watched the Russian Lieutenant scanning the pages of squiggles, hoping that he would take the hint, but of course, he did not understand a word that she had said and Chapayev was in no hurry to prompt the man to explain what he was reading.

_**Payback's a bitch ….**_Leigh thought sarcastically.

"Who do you suggest?" Chapayev leveled his gaze at Hawke before reaching out to the closest chair and sinking down heavily into it.

"Dr Roland," Hawke spoke without hesitation. "She's the only doctor, and we need to make sure that she remains well enough to care for the rest of us, plus, she is isn't quite as sick as the rest of us and maybe the antivirus will work more quickly on her."

"No Hawke, we should give it to the sickest men first …." Leigh protested and Hawke quickly realized that she still had some serious qualms about taking the antivirus.

However he preferred to think that her protest came from her innate sense of fairness and the concerned physician in her, always wanting to put her patients first, even before her own welfare.

"Why don't we just toss a coin …." Hawke growled and this drew a curious look from Chapayev. "An old Western custom," Hawke explained impatiently, glowering at Leigh Roland, imploring her with his eyes to keep her doubts and suspicions to herself.

They didn't need to spook the Russians any more than they already were, and they would know soon enough just how effective the antivirus was ….

Or not.

"Heads or tails, doc?"

"May I suggest a compromise?" Chapayev offered, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes now as he watched the interaction between Hawke and the doctor. "Why don't we do as you suggested and all take our medicine at the same time?"

"Fine …." Hawke and Roland said in unison, both through clenched teeth, and again this drew a weak smile from the Russian, who then turned to his colleague and spoke to him in their native tongue, this time using a more melodic and less abrasive tone of voice as he addressed the younger man respectfully, and Rostov in return spoke calmly and with authority as he waved the two sheets of paper under Chapayev's nose and explained the medical information inscribed there.

"It seems, Dr Roland, that according to my colleagues back home, we will each require two doses of the antivirus, exactly twelve hours apart," Chapayev explained in English, then again prompted his colleague to continue, in Russian.

Hawke suddenly emitted a long hissed breath as he leaned in closer to Leigh Roland,

"Leigh, if you don't need me any more, I'm going to check on Dom and take a load off …." He whispered wearily in her ear, and she regarded him with a soft, sympathetic expression on her face, noting his pallor, breathlessness and his shaking arms as he braced himself against the table.

"Ok. I'll join you when I know what I have to do," she acknowledged, aware that Rostov had stopped speaking and that Chapayev was regarding both of them curiously. "Hawke …."

"I'm ok," Hawke assured now, loud enough for the Russian officer to hear. "Just a little too old to be frolicking in the snow," he grinned weakly and now Leigh was smiling at him, amused by the notion that Stringfellow Hawke had ever been inclined to frolic, period.

Leigh watched anxiously as he staggered and stumbled, picking his way from chair to table and then another chair as he crossed the room, only to drop down heavily on the mattress beside Dominic Santini and then leaned in close to see how the older man was doing.

Leigh forced herself to return her attention to Colonel Chapayev and Lieutenant Rostov, offering them an apologetic look for her lapse in concentration, as she prayed silently that soon they would all be feeling a lot better.

/a\

"Uh oh …." Stringfellow Hawke nudged Dominic Santini's arm gently as he spotted Leigh Roland approaching them, carrying a stainless steel kidney dish containing hypodermic syringes loaded with the antivirus. "Time to make like a pin cushion …."

In response, gasping rapidly, Santini turned watery grey eyes on his young friend, his expression indicating to the younger man that it was not a minute too soon and although it took every ounce of his remaining strength he raised his hand and pointed at Hawke, letting the younger man know that he should get his shot first.

"Oh no …." Hawke protested, but he was smiling gently. "I'm not sure about her aim, Dom. I'll feel better if she practices on you first," he chuckled, then instantly regretted it as the breath caught in the back of his throat and his chest began to convulse with another coughing fit.

"And where do you think she's gonna stick it?" Santini rasped breathily.

As she drew closer, Leigh Roland watched Hawke coughing again, with a heavy heart, but she pinned a weak smile on her lips as she came to a stop beside Hawke and set down the kidney dish before reaching out to take Dominic Santini's wrist to check his pulse.

It took Hawke a few minutes to pull himself together and get his breath back and by the time he had recovered, Leigh Roland had checked over Dominic Santini and swiftly administered the first dose of antivirus.

Knuckling a tear from the corner of his eye, brought about by the coughing fit, Hawke watched her diligently making notes on Santini's medical chart as he began to shrug off his coat then pulled off the sweater he wore over the top of his Airwolf flight suit so that he could then slip the sleeve of the flight suit from the top of his arm.

Leigh caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and could not stop a ghost of a smile from touching her lips as she turned to face Hawke and shook her head gently.

Hawke stopped wrestling with the sleeve of his flight suit as he followed Leigh Roland's gaze down from the top of his arm.

"Oh no …." He gave a groan of indignation as he realized where she intended to stick her damned needle, Dominic's words ringing in his ears. "I guess you're gonna stick that where the sun don't shine …."

"'Fraid so, Cobber," Leigh's smile grew just a little wider. "And you thought I was kidding when I told you I would always be a major pain in your ass …."

"Cute …."

"No need to be embarrassed. I have seen it before you know …. Now, be a big brave boy and I might be able to find you some candy afterwards …."

Hawke gave her a scathing look that told her very clearly that he would exact his revenge, somehow, as his gaze travelled down her slender frame to her nicely rounded derriere.

"Do I get to turn the other cheek?"

"Absolutely …. In twelve hours when you get the second dose …."

Leigh chuckled at the outraged expression on his face now, realizing that Hawke had been entertaining hopes that he might have to administer her shot and that he had been enjoying the prospect of getting his revenge.

"I already had my shot. One of the first things I learned in med school Hawke, a spot of DIY …."

She gently patted the spot on her right buttock where she had administered the injection to herself a few minutes before, in the privacy of the nearest bathroom.

"Ladies prerogative. I don't believe in putting my best merchandise in the window for everyone to peruse," she chuckled and Hawke emitted a low, throaty grunt in response.

"Well?" Leigh quirked an eyebrow challengingly at Hawke when he made no attempt to lower the top portion of his flight suit, then watched with growing mirth as mumbling and muttering darkly to himself, Hawke wrestled out of the flight suit, shivering as his sun bronzed skin was exposed to the slightly cooler air of the recreation room, then turned his back to her, thrust out his hip, presenting her with one perfect white buttock, proving that it was indeed one part of him that was rarely exposed to the sun.

"Nice …. Asset …." Leigh grinned wickedly as she swabbed a small area with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. "Oh, c'mon now, I know you can do better than that, Hawke …. I know you know the drill, soldier. Assume the position …."

She laid a warm hand gently against the base of his spine and applied a little pressure, coaxing him to lean forward just a little, then jammed the needle into Hawke's flesh and swiftly depressed the plunger, dispensing the antivirus into the solid muscle.

"There, all done …." She gently rubbed the area with the cotton swab, encouraging the antivirus to disperse then when she was done, gave him a gentle swat.

"So, what now?" Still wincing, Hawke wrestled with his dignity as he pulled the flight suit back up around his shoulders and secured the zipper.

"Rest."

"Rest?" His tone held a note of incredulity as he pulled the sweater over his head now and reached out for his coat too.

"The instructions say to try to keep the patient quiet and still, so, ideally you should try to get some sleep, but I guess they didn't have these kinds of conditions in mind when they were testing the stuff …. And if you feel anything like I do right now, you're far too restless. I still need to keep a close eye on Dominic, and the Russians who are really sick, and there are all those supplies to inventory and put away … Oh, and by the way, Chapayev is still anxious to get the information from you about the satellite phone. His guys just brought it in …. I guess we keep busy for as long as we can, and then rest …."

"And?"

"Wait and see."

Leigh grew solemn now and gave a soft sigh as she set the syringe back in the kidney dish and set it to one side on the floor, out of the way.

"The instructions the Russians sent said that there should be some sign of improvement within the first six hours …."

She paused, briefly and Hawke threw her an enquiring look.

"There are a few side effects I need to look out for. Nausea, stomach cramps, lethargy, some joint stiffness and pain, but nothing too nasty," she told him with a weak smile.

"I told you not to worry …."

"Then we all get another dose in twelve hours and after that …. We'll know, one way or the other."

"It'll be ok, Leigh …."

Leigh nodded silently, then moved around Hawke, sitting down on the mattress beside his and patted the empty space beside her in an invitation to join her.

Gingerly, mindful of the sore spot on his backside, Hawke sank wearily down beside Leigh and smiled softly at her as she slipped her arm around his waist and dropped her head gently down onto his shoulder as she gave him a gentle squeeze.

"Hawke …." Leigh emitted a soft breath and nuzzled closer to him. "Look, I know you've been wanting to talk …."

Hawke drew in a deep breath, carefully, his expression softening just a little.

She was very astute, for ever since she had revealed what had happened to her after he had returned to Vietnam, and what had happened to their sons, he had wanted to talk to her about it in greater depths, questions burning in his mind that only she could answer, but under the circumstances, he had told himself that it was not the right time to approach her.

It was another reason why he had invited her to stay at the cabin, in the hope that eventually she would open up to him, and that together they might begin to come to terms with the loss, and begin the process of grieving for their lost sons.

"When you're ready, Leigh," he told her softly now, knowing that the time was still not right to speak of such things, as he draped his arm lightly around her shoulder, drawing her in closer.

"I'm not sure there's anything left to say, Hawke …."

A soft sob caught in the back of her throat then, and she felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

"No amount of talking will change things …. Will bring our sons back …."

No matter how painful it was for him to accept, Stringfellow Hawke knew that she was right.

He also knew that there was a fresher grief that she would inevitably have to deal with.

The death of her husband, Gregory Chandler.

Hawke suspected that no matter how supportive and caring he was, he was probably the last person Leigh would need, or want, to help her through that grief.

He also suspected that once they were all well, and removed from their present perilous situation both of them would find it too hard to broach the subject of their lost sons again.

He began to suspect that it was just another one of those things in his life that he would have to learn to accept, and let go of, because the answers he sought would always be just too far out of his reach.

"Why don't you try to get your head down, Leigh? Just for a little while …."

"Maybe later …."

She gave a soft little sigh and pulled away from him now, fixing sorrowful eyes on him in a long, lingering look before extricating her self from his embrace and rising unsteadily to her feet.

"Need to keep busy. I never was very good at just sitting around, biding my time."

"Me neither."

"Just be careful, ok? Don't over do things …. I have no idea what kind of effect too much exertion will have on the effectiveness of the antivirus …."

"You too. I suppose I'd better go and put Chapayev out of his misery, and let Archangel know that we got everything …."

"Watch out for those side effects, Hawke. Let me know if you notice anything different …. If you feel worse …. Or better. But especially if you feel worse."

"Sure."

And with that, Hawke rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet and began to carefully make his way across the recreation room, taking his time and clinging to pieces of furniture as he did so, and Leigh watched him go with mixed emotions, then turned her attention back to Dominic Santini, giving him a gentle, reassuring smile as she focused her attention on checking the level of fluids in the IV bag hanging from a stand beside his mattress, knowing that now only time would tell, and that as she had already told Hawke, it was certainly no time to grow complacent.

She had to keep her wits about her, because despite what Colonel Chapayev had translated for her when Lieutenant Rostov had explained the instructions for the antivirus and the side effects to watch out for, she had no way of knowing how any of them might react to the medication, and she had to be prepared for just about anything.

Leigh suspected that it was going to be another very long and nerve wracking night, and found herself praying fervently that at the end of it, they would have the positive results that they were all pinning their hopes on, because the alternative didn't bear thinking about.

/a\

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Eighteen – Tuesday, February 28th 1984._**

**_Approximately 5am local time._**

"_**Доктор! Доктор! придено быстро! придено быстр!"**_

Leigh Roland was startled out of a deep, dreamless sleep by a rough tugging on her sleeve and the loud, excited jabbering of a high pitched male voice.

She forced open her eyes to find herself being practically pulled from her mattress by a very animated and hysterical Lieutenant Rostov, and immediately felt her heart plummet in her chest as she wondered what the devil was going on.

"_**Доктор! Доктор! придено быстро! придено быстр!"**_ Rostov continued to pull on her elbow, his expression anxious, his tone insistent as realizing that he had got her attention at last, he pulled away from her and beckoned her to follow him across the room.

"What the hell!" Stringfellow Hawke sat up sharply on his mattress, his bleary eyes casting around the recreation room as he too forced his sleep dulled senses to work.

"What the devil is going on?" He demanded of no-one in particular, watching with confusion as Leigh Roland dragged herself from her mattress and followed the excitable Russian across the recreation room.

_**What now?**_

Hawke silently thought to himself as he carefully got to his feet.

Frowning as he realized that something was different.

He was still frowning as he marched across the recreation room in Leigh Roland's wake, anxious to find out what had gotten the young Russian medic so worked up.

Half way across the room, Hawke suddenly realized what it was that was different.

He wasn't gasping for every breath like a fish out of water any longer.

He was still breathless, but his chest didn't feel nearly so sore or tight, and his legs no longer felt like Jell-O.

Hawke came to a halt beside Leigh Roland, just as she squatted down to take a closer look at one of the young Russian commando's who had been very poorly just a few hours ago, and continued to frown as he realized that the medic was grinning like a fool.

"Leigh?" Hawke asked anxiously as he waited for her to finish her examination of the man.

"_**Они голодны!"**_ Lieutenant Rostov laughed loudly, just as Colonel Chapayev came to stand beside him, laying a firm hand down on his shoulder.

_**Oh dear God …. **_

_**They're all mad! **_

Hawke found himself thinking as he fixed his attention on Colonel Chapayev now, only to find a huge grin fixed on his previously austere face and a twinkle of amusement in his reptilian green eyes.

"_**Камрад затишья себя …." **_Chapayev gave the young medic a resounding clap on the back, still grinning, and Stringfellow Hawke found himself wondering if he really was awake, or if he was in the middle of some fever induced crazy, surreal nightmare.

"Forgive me, Mr Hawke, I was just telling my young friend to calm him self," Chapayev continued to grin at Hawke. "And he was trying to tell the doctor that the men are all hungry."

"Hungry?" Hawke echoed.

_**Is that what all the damned fuss was about!**_

But, now that he stopped and thought about it, Hawke realised that there was a gnawing emptiness in the pit of his own stomach.

"Leigh? What's going on?" Hawke turned his attention to the doctor as she rose, a little stiffly and awkwardly, but when she turned around to face him, there was no mistaking the look of relief on her face, even as tears gathered in her unusual eyes.

"I think what the Lieutenant was trying to tell me is that they're all feeling better, Hawke, and from what I can see, they appear to be making a remarkable recovery," she explained in wide eyed disbelief, swallowing down the lump of emotion that was suddenly blocking her throat, as she moved her gaze over the four Russian men who had seemed to be at death's door such a short time before, and who were now all grinning back at her from their mattresses, then reached out to lay the back of her hand gently against Hawke's forehead and then his rough, stubble covered cheek, blinking the tears from her eyes as she took in the fact that his beautiful blue eyes were clear and bright and that there was no sign of the fever that had previously consumed his body.

"You're feeling better too," she told him with a soft smile, and Hawke realized that she was right.

He was feeling better. Not exactly back to one hundred percent, but a lot better than he had felt in days.

"Is …. Is it over?" He found himself stammering, unusually tongue tied and felt his heart trip wildly in his chest as Leigh Roland gave him a gentle nod of acknowledgement.

"Yes, Hawke …. I think maybe it is …." She grinned, and then, caring not a jot what the others would think of her gesture, swiftly slipped her arms around Hawke's neck and drew him toward her for a long, lingering kiss.

"Do we all get one of those?" Colonel Chapayev chuckled throatily as he watched the doctor kissing the American pilot with heartfelt relief and genuine affection, and Hawke responding with equal fervor, pulling her roughly to him and molding his lips to hers.

Chapayev was still grinning when Leigh Roland suddenly pulled away from Hawke, blushing furiously as she realized what she had done, and then they were all laughing, a little nervously to begin with, but then they all realized the enormity of the situation and began to laugh raucously, with genuine relief.

"It's all right, Leigh …" Hawke reached out to gently cup her face, noting the fine lines of weariness and worry at the corners of her eyes as he wiped away a lone tear with the tip of his thumb. "It's going to be all right …." He assured her.

"Yes. I think you're right. It is going to be all right," she let out a long, ragged breath, then eased her self out of the circle of his embrace, regretfully. "I'd better go and check on Dominic …."

She waved vaguely back across the other side of the room toward where Dominic Santini was lying, finding him propped up on one elbow, watching the proceedings on the other side of the room, a wide, gap toothed smile filling his whole face, and giving his young friend a thumbs up in encouragement.

Suddenly overwhelmed by relief and other emotions she could not cope with; Leigh Roland turned on her heel and rushed out of the recreation room, leaving Chapayev and Rostov staring at her swiftly receding back with confused frowns on their faces.

"There she goes again …." Hawke sighed, a wry half smile lifting the corner of his mouth as he watched Leigh fleeing, needing some privacy to deal with the flood of emotions coursing through her, and then, grinning shyly he turned back to Chapayev and Rostov and said: "I think this calls for champagne, gentlemen. I don't suppose you came across any when you were going through those supplies?"


	16. Chapter 16

**_Epilogue._**

**_Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle._**

**_Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska._**

**_Day Twenty – Thursday March 1st, 1984._**

**_Approximately 2.00pm local time._**

"That's the last of it, String …." Dominic Santini informed his young friend, lowering his gaze briefly to the bags he was carrying, his own and Hawke's in his right hand and Dr Leigh Roland's in his left, as much to break the unnerving, eerie, deafening silence that had settled over the station, compared to the commotion and noise that had accompanied the last of the Russian Commando's as they had been evacuated by helicopter to their war ship anchored in the Beaufort Sea, as to state the obvious.

That had been a couple of hours ago, and in the interim, Santini and Hawke had gathered together their belongings and packed their bags, and then they had taken their time in loading Airwolf's storage compartment with the things that Leigh had decided that she needed to take back with her, because they were both still feeling pretty weak, although thankful to be alive.

Leigh Roland had spent the morning quietly and alone, in sickbay, setting aside the things that she wanted to take back with her, the medical equipment that she had brought with her, drugs that she felt were too precious or too dangerous to be left behind, in the unlikely event that they were not destroyed when the rest of Whiteout Station was razed to the ground, the vital blood and tissue samples and slides that she had taken from each of her patients, and the bodies of her dead friends, and a half a dozen vials of the Russian antidote, which she knew the doctors at Knightsbridge would want to analyze, safely stored in the big white plastic box with the heavy lock and red cross daubed over it.

After finishing off in sickbay, Leigh had returned to the Administrators office and dug out various files and records and sensitive documents that the backers of the Whiteout Project had requested she return to them for safe keeping, and added them to the box where she had placed Dr De Witts' daily logs, chronicling the day to day activity at the Station during it's working life, and which Hawke and Santini had stowed in Airwolf's storage hold, along side the few personal belongings that Leigh and Hawke had returned to the burned out ruins of the research labs to retrieve, as Leigh had requested. Momentoes, keepsakes and remembrances spared by the flames, which Leigh Roland intended to return to the relatives of those poor souls who had lost their lives at Whiteout Station, after they had been through the de-contamination process at Knightsbridge and it was decided that it was safe to do so.

"Thanks Dom. You go get the Lady warmed up, and I'll go see what's keeping the other lady …."

A wry smile lifted the corner of Hawke's mouth as he spoke and Santini nodded silently.

Both men knew exactly where Leigh Roland was and why she was taking her time.

They had deliberately stayed out of Leigh's way as she roamed around the now deserted station saying her final, silent farewell to her home and the ghosts of her friends, until after one last silent, solemn meal in the recreation room, Leigh had excused herself, heading back to the accommodation block one last time, where finally she had quietly closed the door to the room that she had shared the few precious months of her marriage with her beloved Greg Chandler, behind her and Hawke and Santini had stayed away, respecting her need to grieve and to let go in her own way.

They had kept themselves busy with moving Airwolf out of warehouse number two with one of the snow mobiles and running a check on all her systems on the ground before taking her up for a brief check flight.

Nome had given Dominic Santini a long range weather forecast before the Russians had been evacuated, which gave them an estimated seven hour window of clear weather, and when he had reported in to Archangel that the Russians were finally all safely off their hands, Hawke had given him an estimated departure time of no later than two thirty that afternoon, knowing that that would give them all plenty of time to finish up here at Whiteout.

Hawke and Santini had then filled the remaining time with tidying away their own precious few belongings and stowing them away in Airwolf, so that once Leigh was finally ready to go, they would not have any excuse to delay their departure, and the inevitable complete destruction of Whiteout Station, as per Archangel's instructions.

After that, they would return to Knightsbridge to be debriefed and to finish their recovery in the medical facility at The Firm's headquarters, remaining there until the doctors decided that they were completely recovered and presented no threat to the rest of the population and Airwolf had also been through the necessary de-contamination process.

Leigh had been right about that.

They had all made a remarkable recovery in the past few days, nothing short of a miracle in Hawke's opinion, but if he was honest, he wasn't looking forward to spending time shut up in a hospital room with Dominic Santini for company and nothing but time to dwell on everything that had happened at Whiteout, past history that could not be undone, and fretting over what the Knightsbridge scientists were doing to Airwolf behind his back.

However, Leigh Roland had offered them all some small comfort when she had suggested that they might only need to remain at Knightsbridge for a day or two, so that the doctors could take the samples they needed and keep them under observation, just to make sure that they didn't suddenly relapse.

Beyond that, Hawke had not allowed himself to dwell.

Life, he supposed, would go on, much as it had gone on before.

His own life.

And Leigh's life.

Now, as Dominic Santini departed with their bags, Hawke gave one last look around the recreation room to ensure that they hadn't overlooked anything, then with a heavy sigh, he forced his legs to carry him out through the swing fire doors and down the corridor towards the accommodation module containing the scientists living quarters, finally coming to a stop at the top of the thoroughfare called Broadway.

Before their jaunt outside to the burned out research labs, Hawke and Leigh Roland had carefully and respectfully removed the personal belongings from each of the scientists rooms, bagging and tagging them neatly and reverently and then later added the things that they had removed from the bodies and the labs, and Hawke had clearly seen the pain and grief in Leigh's eyes and could easily imagine how it was tearing at her heart to see that so little remained of the lives of her friends. Yet, he found himself silently agreeing with her that even these few, mundane and seemingly insignificant items might help to bring some small measure of comfort to the people her friends had left behind.

All that remained in the scientists rooms now were basic furnishings, the name plaques on the doors the only remaining clue that they had ever been there at all.

Hawke came to a halt at the top of the corridor, hesitant about approaching the room Leigh had shared with her husband, and intruding on these her final moments alone with her memories, however at almost the same instant, he heard the distinct and familiar click of a door handle being turned and a lock being disengaged, and in the next moment, Leigh Roland stepped out into the corridor.

She had a small bag in her hand, no doubt containing the last few precious personal belongings of her husband, Dr Gregory Chandler.

Leigh had her back to Hawke, and he knew that she was not aware of his presence as he watched, with a heavy heart, as she dropped her head, briefly, a small, strangled sob escaping from deep in the back of her throat. Then, just as quickly, she got a hold of herself, drawing on deep reserves of courage and strength, reigning in her emotions and raising her head, throwing back her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full height, back straight, chin coming up in defiance as she drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then expelled it as a long sigh as she reached out with noticeably trembling fingers to close the door to the room she had shared with her husband, and the life it represented, forever.

Silently she turned around and began to walk back up Broadway, toward Hawke, the only indication that she was surprised to find him standing there, watching her silently, the slight widening of her beautiful amber eyes and a sad, wistful little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

As she drew up before him at last, Leigh Roland gave him a genuine smile and Hawke found himself smiling back at her, a soft, understanding smile, his heart fit to burst with the love he still felt for her as he reached out to take the bag from her with one hand and slipped the other lightly around her waist, drawing her close and giving her a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"Ready?" Hawke asked in soft, low tones.

"Ready," Leigh concurred, pleased to see him looking so much better today.

It really was a miracle how quickly they had recovered from the unknown contagion.

Without hesitation, Leigh slid her arm around his waist, leaning in close to him, drawing comfort and strength from his nearness and savoring the sensation, for she did not know what the future held for each of them, nor when they might have chance for such a moment of tenderness again, and then they began to walk, neither one giving a backward glance.

"What will you do now? After they're done with us at Knightsbridge?" Hawke could not stop himself from asking as he reluctantly moved away from Leigh to open the swing doors back to the recreation room, allowing her to pass through before him.

They had been through so much, and there was still so much that he wanted to say to her, needed to hear from her, he could not believe that she was simply going to walk out of his life again.

Yet, he knew that if that was what she wanted, he would not try to stop her.

She had her destiny to follow, and he had his.

Perhaps they had never been fated to have anything more in this life than what they had already shared.

Hawke had already invited her to join him and Dom up at his cabin, to recuperate, and Leigh had thanked him for his generosity and promised him that she would let him have her answer before they left.

Now that moment was almost upon them and he felt the need to make the offer again, just so that she would know that he had been sincere and not just making pleasant noises.

"You know you're welcome to come home with me, Leigh …." He began, following her through the doors and back into the familiar recreation room.

"There's plenty of room, and Dom and I will be at the hangar most of the time, at least during the day, so you would have plenty of time and space for yourself. The scenery is magnificent, the lake and the mountains are spectacular, tranquil and soothing and there's lots of fresh air. The perfect place to get your strength and equilibrium back …."

They both knew that it wasn't just her physical strength and health that he was talking about.

She had been on an emotional roller coaster these past few days, and needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

"You make it sound so …. Idyllic …." Leigh fixed her beautiful and tear filled eyes on Hawke now, and he felt his heart drop as he began to suspect that he knew what her answer was going to be.

"So …. Tempting," Leigh sighed sorrowfully and dropped her gaze when she saw the flash of disappointment in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Leigh …."

There was such anguish in his voice now that Leigh Roland could not fail to understand the emotions coursing through him at that moment.

He thought that she was rejecting him, shutting him out of her heart and her life ….

But that was very far from the truth.

Despite everything that she had gone through in the last few days, the losses she had suffered, deep down, Leigh Roland knew that Stringfellow Hawke was, and always would be the only man that she would ever really love.

Her first.

Her last.

Her everything.

And he could have no idea just how painful that realization had been for her, the heartache and betrayal she felt in acknowledging that truth, only hours after the confirmation that her husband, Greg Chandler was indeed dead, lost at the bottom of a deep trench somewhere in the Arctic Ocean, along with the other missing scientists from Whiteout Station and the crew of the Russian nuclear submarine.

She had loved Greg, in her own way, and the very least she owed him was to mourn his passing as a loving wife should.

Leigh also knew that to rush headlong into a relationship with Hawke now would only spell disaster. They both needed time, back in their respective lives, and then maybe, in the future ….

Leigh knew that she couldn't leave Hawke dangling.

He deserved more than that, but, she wouldn't mislead him either.

"I love you, String …. I always have …. I probably always will, but …."

"But?"

"I can't do this with you …. Not here …. Not right now …."She whispered, her gaze roaming around the recreation room, and Hawke knew instinctively that she was seeing the ghost of her husband in every dark recess, every nook and cranny.

"It's too soon …."

However, Hawke could not help thinking that what she was really saying was that it was too late.

For both of them.

"Don't …." Her voice was so low now that Hawke had to strain to hear it, as at last, her beautiful tempestuous tawny eyes settled on his face and he saw the tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks.

"Stop …." She implored and now he was tilting his head slightly to one side, a frown pulling at his brow.

"Please …. Don't do that to yourself. Don't stand there telling yourself that you have no right to expect more for us, that you have no right to want …. To even ask …."

Leigh's voice caught in the back of her throat briefly as she took a small step closer to Hawke.

"I know what you're doing, love …. I see it in your eyes …. You're telling yourself that you have no right to expect a happy ever after for us …. That it is only natural that I will move on, leave you behind. Justifying it by telling yourself that you don't deserve happiness and can't ask anyone to share your life because of the dark and shady things, the danger that you sometimes have to get embroiled in …."

She took another step closer and reached out to place both of her hands on his shoulders, gazing deeply into his eyes, tears swimming in amber irises that were dancing and blazing brightly with the love that she felt for him, and Leigh knew that she was hitting the mark from the uncomfortable and rigid way that he was holding himself, chin rising, his eyes avoiding hers as she continued to speak.

Unable to resist the temptation, Leigh reached up and took that proud and noble chin in her fingers, forcing it down so that he could no longer avoid meeting her gaze as she continued in a low, breathy voice, tears cascading silently down her pale cheeks.

"Don't do that to yourself, String. You're wrong. You have every right to want and expect to share your life with someone who loves you and understands you, someone who understand what motivates you and drives you in everything that you do, and does not judge you …. Someone who needs your love too. Someone like me …. And I do love you Hawke, if you believe nothing else, please, believe that …."

Again her voice caught and she paused for a moment to swallow down the lump of emotion that was suddenly blocking her throat.

When she looked back up into his chiseled, handsome features, she could see that there was something else in Hawke's eyes now, and Leigh let out a long, ragged sigh.

"And now I see you standing there telling yourself that it's only right to let me go, because no matter how much you love me, you can't give me any of the things I want in life …."

She paused now to squeeze fresh tears from her eyes, cupping his chin lovingly, stroking his cheek with her thumb in a gentle, reassuring rhythm.

"How the hell can _**you **_know what I want out of life, String, when right now, this minute, _**I**_ have no idea what _**I **_want …" She paused to draw in a deep, ragged breath before continuing.

"Except …. that I know that I do _**not**_ want to lose you. Your friendship. Your respect …. And yes, your love …. But …. We both have our own lives. Responsibilities. I'm not saying …. Never …. I'm not closing my mind to the possibility, because I can't ever close my heart to the hope …." She caressed his cheek with soft fingers, her eyes boring into his, imploring him to understand what she was saying, and she watched him swallow down hard.

"But, for now, it's enough to know that you are alive …. And that you still care …. That we came out of this as friends …."

She gently reached up and slipped her hand behind his head, her fingers sinking into the downy softness of his hair as she guided his face down toward her own, her lips slightly parted as they waited to receive his in the tenderest and sweetest of kisses.

"I love you, Stringfellow Hawke, don't ever doubt it," Leigh told him in a ragged voice when they parted at last, breathless, her fingers once again reaching out to trace the outline of his strong jaw. "I guess what I'm really asking for is a little time …."

"I love you too, Leigh. More than either of us really understands," Hawke confessed softly, capturing her fingers in his own then reached out to draw her close, wrapping his arms around her firmly, but tenderly as she rested her cheek against his shoulder blade, and he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, letting out a long, ragged breath.

"If you ever need me …. For anything …."

"I know. You too."

Leigh finally drew away, and again the sight of the tears glistening in her lovely unusual eyes tore at Hawke's heart and he found himself wishing that just for once, his life wasn't so complicated and fraught.

"At least now I know where to start looking for you," Leigh raised her head from his shoulder and smiled softly up into his face and they both knew that she was thinking about that day twelve years ago when her world had come tumbling down around her ears and the long days after when she had thought him gone from her life forever.

"I'll be in Los Angeles for a little while, String. Maybe we could have dinner some time ...."

"Maybe ...."

"So .... Time to move on …." Leigh gently extricated herself from his embrace and cast one last look around the recreation room. "And I guess we both know how to do that."

"Yeah," Hawke sighed expressively, raising his chin defiantly now. "We'd better make a move. They're expecting us at Knightsbridge …."

Leigh nodded, then reached out to him once more, slipping her arm through his and giving it a gentle squeeze then tugging on it, guided him toward the door that lead to the kitchen and the outside world.

/a\

"Ok Dom, give me the numbers …."

Settled inside Airwolf at last, Hawke spoke into the microphone in his helmet after jamming it onto his head and waiting for Leigh Roland to get comfortable in the seat beside him.

"Everything is on line and looks A OK," Dominic Santini responded swiftly as Stringfellow Hawke gently lifted Airwolf up off the icy ground and eased her up, slowly gaining height as he circled the buildings of Whiteout Station, sensing Leigh Roland's tension and sorrow as she looked over the place one last time.

Leigh had made a request to say a few words before they left and Hawke knew that she was preparing herself and so gave her a moment or two.

"Leigh?" He prompted somewhat reluctantly after several minutes of silence.

"I'm ready …." She confirmed for him, eyes swimming with tears and voice catching briefly in the back of her throat, then she drew in a ragged breath as Hawke brought Airwolf in low to hover steadily at the dead center point of Whiteout Station and Leigh began.

"I thought long and hard about what to say …. I lost a lot of good friends here, as well as a loving husband, and at first I thought I should say something about each of them, about what good people they all were and what they meant to me …. But I guess now is not the right time, and I'm really not the right person …. So in the end I decided on something simple and I realized that there was only one thing that I could say," she drew in a long, calming breath then continued.

"My friends were not soldiers and they did not fall in battle, but they are just as much casualties of war …. This wretched cold war …. So I think this is quite fitting:

"_**They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning. We shall remember them …."**_

She paused, dropping her head briefly, then raised her chin defiantly and added;

"_**I**_ shall remember them …."

"You ready for this?" Hawke asked in low, solemn tones, after they had all observed a moment of silence, turning his head slightly to regard Leigh Roland sympathetically, wanting to give her time to say her final goodbyes before he followed Archangel's orders and sent everything left down there on the ground straight to hell.

"Just do it, Hawke," Leigh sighed, never taking her eyes off the complex of buildings below.

"Dom, gimme a Hellfire," Hawke commanded as he pulled back on the cyclic to gain altitude.

"You got it …." Santini confirmed and did not have long to wait as Hawke depressed the firing button and a few seconds later there was a deafening explosion and from over Hawke's shoulder, Santini saw bright orange flames erupt in the front windshield.

A few seconds later there was another explosion and more flames, and then another, and another, as Hawke sent several missiles to their targets on the ground, and then Santini felt Airwolf rising and turning as Hawke gained even more altitude, taking one last final slow swoop over the burning buildings on the ground making sure that this time the inferno consumed and engulfed everything, then set them on course for Knightsbridge at last.

"Time to go home, Dom. Gimme turbos …." Hawke requested, moving his head slightly to regard Leigh Roland once more, but she was already settling back in her seat, head tipped back, her eyes still closed against the horror of the conflagration on the ground behind them, her pale face awash and glistening with tears, and he decided to leave her with her thoughts as he concentrated on the gauges and instruments before him, knowing that there was nothing that he could say that would ease her sorrow and grief, only time and distance would do that, and reflecting on all that had happened in the last week or so, knowing that personally, he was not sorry to see the end of Whiteout Station.

"Home, I like the sound of that," Dominic Santini responded.

"Yeah, me too. For a while there, I had serious doubts that I would ever see the place again …."

"You too huh?" Santini gave a soft chuckle. "I don't know what you're plans are, but me, I'm off on that sunshine cruise …. And the closest I plan to get to ice from now on is the cubes floating in my Scotch!"

"When did you start drinking Scotch? I thought you didn't like the taste of that stuff …."

"A guy can acquire a new taste and cultivate a bad habit now and again can't he?"

Leigh Roland let out a soft sigh, brushing away her tears as she listened to the lighthearted banter going back and forth between Hawke and Santini, warmed by the obvious affection that both men had for each other, sure that whatever else the future might hold for herself and Stringfellow Hawke, she had never loved him more, that she had never been more pleased that he was alive and well, and was certain in her heart that no matter what, he would be fine.

Dominic Santini would keep him honest and see to it that he never got into serious trouble, or be allowed to wallow too deeply or overly long in his self imposed isolation, and that he was never short of company, friendship, fatherly advice or love when he needed them.

Hawke still had purpose in life with his passion for flying, his love of his country and his work for the government, as well as his need to find out what had really happened to his brother.

With or without her in his life, Stringfellow Hawke, like herself, was a survivor.

And the future?

Who knew ….

They would just have to wait and see.

Tomorrow would take care of its self ….

After all, tomorrow was all that any of them could reasonably hope for.

**_Credit:_** The verse that Leigh quotes from in remembrance of her friends is called **"The Ode of Remembrance"** and is from a poem called **_The_** _**Fallen,**_ by Laurence Binyon, which was first published in The Times in September 1914.


End file.
